Offensive Care
by Gyrotank
Summary: Part 5 of ongoing series. English translation of 'Агрессивная терапия'. After receiving an injury Chip is put into the Small City Hospital for treatment where he becomes involved in the investigation of one very intricate and very lethal plot.
1. Chapter 1 Overhead Hardships

**Disclaimer:**

_All characters of "Chip'n'Dale Rescue Rangers" cartoon series are property of the Walt Disney Corporation and are used without permission for the sole purpose of personal entertainment. All other characters and events depicted in the story are a product of author's imagination._

_Text__s of songs "Slender Frame" and "The Living Daylights" by a-ha are all property of their respected owners and are used without permission for the sole purpose of personal entertainment and needed mood creation._

**Offensive Care**

by Gyrotank

**Chapter 1**

**Overhead Hardships**

***1***

_December 8__th__, evening_

The winter enveloped the city little by little, gradually infiltrating the houses through windows and doors while the inhabitants were absent. It announced its presence in the evening, forcing people who came home seeking warmth and comfort to rush to the kitchen in a hurry instead and hop impatiently around the boiling kettle, longing to prepare another cup of something hot to warm up. At times like this it doesn't matter whether it's your fifth or tenth cup that day, because you need it like never before. It's one of those simple pleasures you miss the most when you can't have one. And tall black-haired man standing on the windswept railway platform, his fine-featured face half-covered with thick scarf, waiting in impatience bordering on agony for the train with the most important cargo in his, his family's and his business' history, knew this particular feeling all too well.

A young gaunt man wearing glasses with thick lenses that hid short-sighted but keen and tenacious glare came up to him.

"Coffee, Mr. Vernier?" he asked.

Mathieu Vernier, American of French origin, turned to him and took a plastic cup with his hand, trembling from the cold and anxiety. The coffee made by vending machine was disgusting for the taste of the owner of three restaurants, but still came in handy.

"Thanks, Steven. Any news?"

"Nobody says anything for sure. But I managed to call through to the man in charge of cargo transportation in the area. Name's Sanders. He should come here any minute."

"Great work, Steven. Where would I be without you?"

The consultant smiled lightly but said nothing in response to his boss' _phrase du joir_. He wasn't expected to answer anything in the first place, and Mr. Vernier would be very surprised if his assistant said something.

By the time Olmer Sanders, head of the local office of Pacific branch of Union Pacific Railroads, arrived, the restaurateur had finished his second cup of bad but hot coffee. The stout man roused by the late and irate phone call was quite out of puff after his hasty stroll from the parking lot and had to catch some breath before addressing his vexed clients.

"I'm honored to meet you, Mr. Varny!" he started right off the bat. "It's a rare opportunity to behold such a client in person! The birds of your feather usually don't come down to receive the cargo personally!"

"My name is Vernier and I'm starting to regret of not staying in the skies!" annoyed Frenchman said through his teeth. He rolled up his sleeve in an emphatic manner and looked at his golden watch. "My cargo was scheduled to arrive two hours ago, Mr. Sanders! That's preposterous!"

"I know, sir," the head railman made a helpless gesture. "But I can't do anything here—"

"And who can, then?" the cargo owner asked with meticulous curiosity. "Whomever I ask both here and in Sea-City, all say that's not their business! Terrible, plainly terrible…"

"Sometimes trains are overdue, mister—"

"No! Not this time! Not today! Not this train!" Vernier crumpled the empty plastic cup and flung it into the litter-bin nearby. "I can wait no more! I've wasted too much time already! In five minutes I'll leave and won't be coming back! My lawyers will come back instead and—"

Prolonged tooting cut his infuriated speech short. Vernier, Steven, Sanders and the group of loaders gathered around a big container at the far end of the platform gambling habitually to while away the time, looked in the sound's direction. Tooting repeated and slight jingle of rails heralded the train's arrival. Soon a black mass of locomotive appeared, piercing the darkness with the bright shining of its five headlight-eyes.

"Here it comes, Mr. Varny!" said the Union Pacific representative. "As you can see, everything's all right!"

"Maybe for you the two-hour delay is 'all right', but for me it isn't! And my name is Vernier!" the businessman snapped, but now his anger was mainly for the sake of appearances and image. He was rejoicing inwardly, for this cargo was worth sticking around on the cold platform until the next day.

He was waiting for two refrigerator-cars stuffed up to the top with exclusive Caspian Beluga caviar. This delicacy grew even more precious now, when very severe restrictions were imposed on the catch of this particular kind of fish on the verge of extinction. But he, Mathieu Vernier, as usual pulled all the wires and by means of persuasion, threats and effective fund investment won for his firm the right to purchase truly huge consignment of caviar which will be the high spot of the Christmas Eve culinary programme of his restaurants.

None of his richer competitors believed he would pull it off. But he did it against all odds, got ahead of them and now had all the rights to anticipate the real inrush of the clients from the very top of society. The city will remember Vernier's Christmas Caviar Season for a very long time!

The train was still moving along the platform, but Vernier, hardly suppressing the desire to break into run, which would be unbecoming for his status, strode rapidly in the direction of the two white reefer-cars coming out of the dark. He walked alongside the train, reading attentively the registration numbers written on their sides. They consisted of ten letters and numbers, but he needed neither checking with the records in his smartphone nor asking Steven. He knew them by heart and could recite without looking at any time of day and night.

For six previous months he literally lived by this caviar project and now, looking at these cars, he felt like a mountain-climber who conquered Everest. To tell the truth, it was Everest indeed, and his ticket to the premier league of restaurant business. The time has come not only for quantitative but for qualitative progress. And it was here, beyond the metal doors of the refrigerators.

"Open them, quickly!" Vernier hailed at the workers, then turned to his assistant. "Is everything ready, Steven?"

"Certainly, boss!" the young man reported, handing him silver bucket with ice-covered bottle of champagne. He ran for it without waiting for Vernier's order, as soon as the very first hooting of the diesel locomotive was heard.

"Great job, Steven! Where would I be without you! Where are the beakers— Oh, here they are! Give them out to everybody, this event must be celebrated! Mister Sanders, join in, don't be shy!"

"Please, mister Vernier, you are too kind…" Sanders said, beet-red of the honor bestowed on him. You don't get an opportunity to drink champagne with such a bigwig every day, especially the one to become one of the most prominent and respected citizens in the nearest future. It also meant that Olmer had to drink with common loaders, but he reasoned that if Mathieu Vernier didn't find it blameworthy, he had nothing to worry about all the more. On the contrary, it was another opportunity to make a good showing as a thoughtful manager who doesn't loathe the company of the ordinary workers.

"Get ready with the bottle, Steven!" Vernier went on giving orders. "But don't rush! I want the cork to fly out exactly when the doors start to open! You hear that?!" he shouted at the two workers standing near the doors. They didn't like the idea of working with the locks while their buddies were drinking champagne, but they happened to be the ones to draw unlucky lots and had to comply. So they nodded with lenten looks, unlocked the bolts and pulled the door to the right. Its movement was met with loud joyful screams and cork plop, but when it came to a stop, an eerie silence reigned, and the rattle of its wheels against the guides sounded unnaturally loud and just as drearily as clanging of death knells.

The glass of champagne slipped out of Vernier's hand and shattered, covering his shoes and pants with sparkling drink and crystal splinters. He paid no attention though.

"Wh-wh-what's that…?" he stammered at last. He was looking at his long-awaited cargo and understood nothing. The train was here, as well as the two fridge-cars loaded with beluga caviar. That is, they should have been loaded with beluga caviar, and not with the stacks of boxes of some cat food.

"Proceed with unload, mister?" one of the loaders asked casually. He barely restrained himself from smiling widely at the sight of the arrogant money-bag who lost all his haughtiness in a brink of an eye.

"What…? How…?" businessman asked and suddenly exploded. "WHAT DOES THIS MEAN?! WHAT'S THAT?! STEVEN?!!" he shouted grabbing his equally shocked assistant and shaking him violently. "Where's my caviar?!! Where?!! MISTER SANDERS!!!"

"Mister Vernier… Mister Vernier…" the chubby man prattled. "I don't know what it is… Must be a mistake…"

"MISTAKE?!! I'll show you what 'mistake' is!!! You've got one hour! No, half an hour to correct this mistake!!! After that I'll call your boss in Nebraska and make HIM deal with it!!! And with you, too!!! And I don't care a straw about time zones!!! GOT IT?!!"

Olmer Sanders took out his cell phone and, barely hitting the needed keys, went on calling all the offices and homes, arousing every single man having even the tiniest connection to this train. Steven ran after the train engineers and they made several laps around the train counting and recounting the cars. Everything was alright. Everything was in place. Everything. Except the most important thing.

"It's a catastrophe…" Vernier thought sitting at the edge of the platform and smoking one cigarette after another. He didn't have them having quit almost a month ago, so he borrowed a pack from one of the workers. Five minutes ago he would have despised the very idea of it, but now he didn't care. After such a failure you had all the reasons to set out to seeking for a loading job yourself.

This caviar meant everything for him. He dared to resolve to unthinkable expenses to get it, expectant to be repaid with a hundredfold, and now… Where to get the money to pay his credit with? Where to get the money to get his two restaurants out of the pawn? He mortgaged them to finance the building of the third and most luxurious one, which opened in the central district of the city recently and was about to become the center of his Caviar Season and a Mecca for the cream of the society during the holidays. How to pay the uncovered building and advertising expenses now? How to meet the eyes of the family, not to mention the competitors he _left behind_…

"It's them… It must be Piccolieri… Or Gomez… Or this old swindler Forknife…" he kept telling himself. They must have done it. Nobody else was rich and powerful enough to press all the buttons and cook everything up to make him, Mathieu Vernier, 'impudent parvenu' and their most dangerous competitor, get two railroad cars filled not with exclusive caviar but with cat food from "Happy Tom Factory".

*** 2 ***

In contrast with the noise, bustle and panic reigning at the cargo terminal platform, on the opposite end of the station everything was quiet and still. Squeaking of the lamps dangling on the wind was the only sound, and the game of light and shadow on the cars awaiting for the trip or resting from the run across the country was the only visible movement. That's why any misstep and any strange sound were like a bolt from the blue.

"Quiet, morons!" a large cat in exquisite dark-blue suit hissed at his clumsy henchmen. He tried to step carefully for two reasons: not to make any noise and not to stain his suit against the dirty car. Mole, Mepps and Wart had no such fears, though, and moved along much faster than their boss (good news) but constantly stumbled against the cross-ties and each other (bad news).

"But Fat Cat, there's no one here!" Mepps complained. He muffled himself up with the empty sack he carried to fight off the night's chill. "You said no man would come…"

"But it isn't a reason to make noise, is it? You should always be on guard. Better we hear somebody coming first than that somebody hears us first. Am I right?"

"Sure you are, boss!" the three gangsters reported in chorus. Fat Cat clutched his head.

"If only you worked as zealously as you agree with me, you'd be priceless! Hurry up! Watchman can return any minute!"

"But if we worked zealously we wouldn't have time to agree with you zealously!" Mole observed thoughtfully after some short as for him pondering.

"And I thought you are totally hopeless, Mole… Get your sack and move on!" the cat pointed at the two coupled reefers. They looked just like those Vernier had been waiting, which wasn't surprising at all because those were _exactly_ the ones he was waiting for.

"Oh, my precious, my dear!" Fat Cat said blissfully as he walked up to the cars. He tenderly passed his paw over the car and winced with disgust at the sight of the dust stuck to his fingers. "Ugh, these people are such dirty creatures that you can barely touch anything… Wart, Mepps! Open the car!"

"You know, boss, I still can't understand how you did that" the alley cat said pointing at the car. In order to get to the door locks he would have to take off the warm sack he's got used to already. So he decided to stall for some time knowing all too well that Fat Cat likes to give long and detailed explanations of his ingenious plans.

"It's elementary, Mepps!" the feline purred. "Let's suppose you wanted to steal two cars full of caviar leaving the same amount of overdue cat food instead. What would you do?"

"Well, I'd sneak at the train station at night with a sack of canned food, open the car, fill my sack with caviar and put the cat food I brought with me in its place…"

"Indeed, Mepps, indeed! And you'd be going hence and forth for a week carrying heavy sacks on your back. And why? Because you are used to do everything by yourself using everything but your head in the process! But I know how to use my head and make the others work for me. That's why all the dirty work was done by Humans! That is, not all the work, don't worry! You'll have your fair share of it, too!"

"Thanks, Fat Cat, you are too kind!"

"Oh, Mepps, please, I never forget about you, my faithful helpers… See those numbers on the car? It's identification number. People wrote it into the register while making up the train. And if another number gets written there _somehow_, they'll hitch two cat food cars instead of two caviar cars. Note, Mepps, _they_ will hitch the cars, deliver them and unhitch them. All we, that is, you have to do is unload them… Hey, why are you still here?! Go, unload it!"

Mepps took his comfort sack off and with a sad 'meow' went to the car, which was even colder than the December air. Mole was fiddling with the lower lock, and the cat had nothing to do but climb to the upper one silently cursing Mole who always managed to find a way to do as little work as possible. Mepps avenged him fully, though, by stepping on his head and jumping to the lock, pushing off with all his might as much to reach the lock as to make Mole feel the most of it. But when Mepps got to the lock he found something strange about it.

"What are you dawdling over there?!" Fat Cat shouted with anger. He couldn't wait to see the caviar which, according to the invoice, was his rightful property.

"Can't open it, boss!" Mepps answered from above. "Rocket's on the way!"

"Push it away… WHAT?! What rocket?!"

"Big one, boss! Looks like powerful…"

Giving up all his prejudices, Fat Cat ran up to the car to look at this 'rocket' in person. He jumped on the Mole bogging him down into the embankment gravel and started climbing paying no attention whatsoever to the dirt densely covering car's sides.

"Here it is, boss!" the thin cat said, handing his boss large red and white fireworks rocket. Fat Cat studied it and a sudden realization struck him. He rapidly climbed up to the roof, almost pushing poor Mepps down on the ground and, barely pulling himself up, froze with his mouth wide open at the sight of the dense rows of fireworks covering the roofs of both refrigerators.

"How did it get here?" he asked himself. Nobody loads the fireworks on the roofs of fridge cars. But if people hadn't placed them here, then who…

"RESCUE RANGERS!!!" Fat Cat screamed out loud.

"…away!" the answer came from the cars on adjacent tracks. The feline criminal looked there and saw numerous fires rushing to his cars along the invisible fuses.

"BLOW THEM OUT! DON'T STAND AND STARE! EXTINGUISH THEM!" Fat Cat roared. He waved his hands around him in search of the nearby fuses. He found and tore three of them, but there was horde of fires incoming, so it was rather poor consolation.

"DO SOMETHING!" he yelled at his henchmen rushing about below. Their wish to help boss was so sincere, and their impulse so unanimous, that they simultaneously ran to the nearby ladder not helping but interfering with one another.

Fat Cat moved along the car as fast as his shape allowed (that is, not fast), his hand swishing the air like a saber, tearing the threads. He knew he wouldn't have time to tear them all, but kept moving with his tongue hanging out, fighting for his caviar to the end. He hoped against all odds that if he tore at least some of the threads there would be no salute, or at least it would be too weak for humans on the station to see.

But, just like in all his previous struggles against the Rescue Rangers, his hopes never came true. And not just because at night the explosion of even a single rocket is visible from miles away, but also because due to the elaborate fuse system covering all the surface of the cars' roofs, even one little fire was more than enough to launch the whole carnival arsenal.

"A-A-A-A!!!" Fat Cat screamed seeing the roof turning into one sparkling carpet. Totally desperate, he grabbed the nearest rocket to tear it off, but at that very moment its fuse burned out and it skyrocketed with a loud sizzling carrying ill-starred feline along with it. Having no desire at all to participate in the salute _that_ first-hand, Fat Cat let it go and landed upside down into the large heap of sand between the tracks.

His henchmen looked at the rockets flying off en-masse first, then at Fat Cat's tail sticking out of the sand and decided that while they can do nothing about the former, they can still help the boss at least somehow. So they ran to dig him out, but this non-trivial task turned out even more difficult because of the rockets exploding with thunderous rumble, which caused the trio to duck their heads instinctively, and Fat Cat's manners, or rather lack of them. His legs and tail madly threshed the air not allowing the trio to grab them and pull him out. But when they finally managed to dig him out, they instantly regretted it, for there was no gratitude from Fat Cat but another fit of rage.

"WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG, IDIOTS?!" Fat Cat yelled. "Why do I feed you and keep you?! You have no idea?! So do I!!! Come on, dumbsters, get those Refuse Rangers while they are here! They art here somewhere! Mepps! Climb on that car!" he pointed at the direction from where that very '…away' came which was the primary source of his nightmares for many years already. "Wart! Mole! Surround the cars on the ground! We can't let them go! Not this time! MOVE!!! MOVE!!!"

*** 3 ***

"Hey! Look! What's that?!" Olmer Sanders shouted pointing at the fireworks exploding in the skies over the far end of the station. Everybody looked there, then turned to the chief of station security who also inevitably became involved in the fuss around the fridges. The man in question grabbed his walkietakie but didn't have time to push the button. The device came to life by itself and emitted a mix of statics and anxious voices belonging to several of his subordinates at once.

"Number-One's here!" chief of security answered. For about a minute he stood listening to the cacophony, then turned to the people around him.

"It's on the sidetracks at the very edge of the depot!" he said, not even trying to conceal his bewilderment. "Two refrigerator cars that arrived from Sea-City earlier this day started launching fireworks. I don't understand…"

"TWO REFRIGERATOR CARS FROM SEA-CITY?!" Vernier shouted. "Quickly! We must go there! Those are mine cars, I know!"

"But sir," the trainmaster tried to object. "Your cars are here…"

"THESE ARE NOT MY CARS!" the businessman yelled even louder than before. "MY CARS ARE FILLED WITH CAVIAR, NOT CAT FOOT! WE MUST HURRY!!!"

He darted in the salute's direction right across the tracks. Faithful Steven ran after him, then others followed. Chief of security was the last to run. He contacted the main office and asked to temporarily stop all the locomotives in the depot. This rich man had given them all too much trouble already and the security man didn't want him to get hit by the train to cap it all. Not during his shift at least.

*** 4 ***

A black rectangular box on Chip's belt shortly vibrated twice. The chipmunk pressed his paw against it sending acknowledgement signal, then tapped Dale on his shoulder. It felt wooly because his friend wore a late-autumn variant of his Hawaiian shirt — a knitted pullover of the same colors. Chip was in his usual outfit as zipping up his jacket was enough to make him completely prepared for meeting face to face with the Californian winter season.

"Let's go, Dale, before they fully recovered! And something tells me this place will get too crowded soon!"

"Yeah, let's go!" Dale stood up from the car's edge and cast one more glance at the salute and the Fat Cat gang's comedy show. "It turned really cool, don't you think? The real holiday salute!"

"For everyone but Fat Cat, I'm afraid!" the leader of the Rangers added.

The friends laughed and ran down the queue of cars. Somewhere in the darkness to their right Monterey Jack and Gadget were running down the similar roofs to the same destination, the 'Ranger Wing'. Zipper was way behind them. His natural abilities allowed him to move around the depot without the help of ropes and thread bridges, that's why his task was to ignite the fuses tied to the farthest and the hardest to reach cars. By the time he comes, his friends will be seated and ready to take off.

"There they are! I see them! They are here, boss!" Mepps' voice came from behind them.

Chipmunks looked back and saw the alley cat running after them, his mouth wide open and the tongue hanging down, almost touching the roof. His size and weight didn't allow him to use the thread bridges Chip and Dale used, so he leapt across the gaps between the cars, landing with tremendous dins which kept growing louder and louder.

"He's catching up, Chip!" Dale screamed.

"Don't worry!" his friend answered confidently. "Our rope won't hold him, and the other train is too far away for him to jump! Come on, we're almost there!"

They loped across two more cars and finally reached their destination. It was Rangers' standard climbing rope arrow stuck to the car's side; the other end of the rope was attached to the container on the well car some two tracks away. All they had to do was to climb to the other side and unfasten the rope. Then they'd be unreachable and nothing would prevent them from reaching the LZ.

"Go, Dale!" Chip slapped his friend on the back. The red-nosed chipmunk rapidly and skillfully went along the rope. Chip looked at approaching Mepps one more time. _He is too far to catch us_, he reasoned, and followed Dale. He was at the middle of the rope when it started shaking and twisting violently.

"I got you, Rescue Ranger!" Mepps shouted with joy. "Let's play rollercoaster!"

He kept swinging the rope up and down, from side to side. Chip clutched to the aerial bridge with all his might and slowly but steadily kept moving along. This wasn't his toughest climbing experience, and he was pretty sure his hands and legs wouldn't fail and he'd make it.

Unfortunately, the rope failed. The end tied to the container tore off sending Chip flying along the cars, tumbling in the air.

"CHIP!" Dale yelled, horrified, and darted in the same direction. When he reached the car near the place where Chip's fall ended, he froze.

His friend was lying on the ground on his chest, his hands and legs spread out. He wasn't moving, but it wasn't his biggest problem. It was Wart leaning over him with a cadaverous smile on his scaly face. But Chip turned out lucky enough to reach the coal cars, and Dale didn't need to rack his brains over a way to save him for too long. Choosing a piece of coal of right size and weight and covering himself from head to toes with a coal dust in the process, Dale dropped the brick down, right on the nasty lizard's head. Wart appreciated chipmunk's choice and spread-eagled on the ground next to Chip.

"Chip! Buddy! How are you?!" Dale kept lamenting while descending from the car. He ran up to the friend. "Say something, please!"

"Dale… Leg…" Chip answered, his teeth gritted in pain.

Dale looked at his friend's leg and knew they're in trouble. Apparently, Chip was unlucky to land on his right foot, which was now unnaturally twisted under his leg. With a trauma like this you clearly can't run or jump. Truth to say, it would be hard even to crawl…

"Ah, Rescue Rangers! I found them! I caught them!"

Scream of joy brought Dale out of the stupor. It was Mole. The prospect of catching his boss' most hateful enemies filled the digger's heart with utmost happiness. He was approaching slowly, his hands spread out wide.

"Don't touch my friend!" the chipmunk ruffled up and assumed Rocky Balboa's boxing stance. "Run while you can! Or else…!"

Mole shrank somewhat in the face of the angry Ranger. "Oh, he's so serious…" He glanced sideways at Wart lying on the ground, whose head and shoulders were absolutely black. "He beat Wart black and… very black! If only I had something long and heavy, like a shovel, I'd kill two birds with one hit…"

"We're chipmunks, not birds!" Dale answered. Mole hesitated to come up with a suitable answer and Dale never heard his thoughts on the matter. He heard loud "BANG!" instead, produced by the square-faced shovel heft which landed on the underground dweller's head.

"Oh, shovel… Thanks…" Mole broke into thankful smile and fell down across Wart.

"My mama always said that havin' a fire stand around is good thingah!" Monty observed in didactic tone while shaking off his hands.

"Monty! You're just in time! Chip's injured!" Dale waved his hands above his head and Aussie ran towards him.

"Oh-h-h," he said darkly observing Chip's foot. "That's some bloomin' serious stuff! One of mah old buddies, the one who earned his livin' by pinguin racing, got something like this when 'is black and white partner cracked up on a curve and… well, it took 'im quite some time to heal! We need to take Chip to the hospital!"

"Looks like if we not hurry, someone'll have to take all of us to the hospital!" Dale said tugging at Monty's sleeve and pointing at the direction of two caviar cars.

The salute has been fading down already, but it provided enough light to discern a huge incoming shadow. Fat Cat was running on all fours like a cannon ball covered with thick grey fur protruding in all directions. He pressed his ears to his head and opened mouth so wide as though he wanted to swallow the three Rangers at one go.

"Monty, haven't you got another shovel by chance?" Dale asked dumb but natural question.

"Sorry, but my shovel business is in crisis these days…"

"Go… Leave me…" Chip uttered weakly. His face became disfigured with pain as he tried to rise himself on elbows and turn to face Fat Cat. "I'll handle it… Leave…"

"Hey, Chippah-lad, don't forget yourself and us!" the strongmouse almost shouted at him. He turned the second chipmunk. "Dale, lead da way and signal Mayday! We're right behind ya!"

Clasping Chip with both hands, Monterey lifted him from the ground and ran after Dale. _I should definitely start losing weight…_ he thought listening to the heavy breath of a mad cat coming closer with each leap. _That decides me — tomorrow I'll start keeping a diet!.. No, after New Year! Celebrating New Year while on a diet is plainly stupid…_

"Monty…"

"Yeah, kid?"

"Drop me… You won't get away with me… I'll draw him away from you… He knows I'm the leader, he won't miss such an opportunity…"

Monty didn't deign to answer. First, he had lived long enough to understand that there's no use in commenting nonsense. Second, he had hard time breathing, not to mention talking…

"The platform… ends…" Chip made himself heard again. He pointed forward at the white border rapidly approaching. Beyond it a gravel belt started which gradually changed into a shriveled grass.

"I know…" Aussie answered. He has been pondering what to do next for some time already. Should he maintain his speed, jump off the platform and keep running? Even if he manages to land on his feet, he'll still lose his speed, and if he stumbles, that will be it… Jump off lightly and snuggle up to the platform, hoping Fat Cat won't notice and fly way over them? Could work, but the feline is far from stupid, and where to run next… Even Dale found a place to hide somewhere…

"Hey, wait! Where is he?!" Monty wondered and suddenly heard the chipmunk's voice very close to his right ear.

"Don't stop, Monty! Keep on running!"

Monterey Jack was so astonished he almost did what he was told not to, but restrained himself. He partly didn't have time, partly didn't want to look back to see what's happening there, so he went on running to the very edge of the platform. "STOP!" interior voice of self-preservation shouted. "KEEP RUNNING!" interior voices of reason and experience insisted. Monty went along with the majority and decided to maintain speed.

_I wonder what Dale's plan is_, he thought. _Where did he come from, to begin with?.. Does he have any plan at all? What does he want me to do? Fall from the platform with a loud wallop? Or gather speed and take off, kinda like that 747…?_

Turned out, it was the latter. With only a handful of inches remaining between him and the edge, Monty felt a powerful jerk and his legs stopped feeling the ground. He kept moving them in the air for some time, but then stopped this useless activity and just stared down on the gravel and grass way below him.

"How do you like it, Monty?"

Aussie threw his head back and saw Dale's smiling face right above him. Behind the chipmunk the shady form of 'Ranger Wing' could be discerned in the night sky. And then Monty understood everything…

"A-A-A-ARGH!!!"

A long loud wail coming from behind pierced the air, ending with a hollow rumble and a rustle of gravel.

"What was that, Dale?" Monty asked. His collar was tightly clenched by gripper on the end of the plane's telescopic arm so he couldn't look there for himself.

"Ah, nothing of particular interest! Just cars, tracks and Fat Cat who didn't manage to brake in time and is now looking at us from the heap of the gravel he made with his own fat mug. He's waving and yelling something, must be wishing us a safe flight. In other words, peace and harmony!" Dale informed him and laughed so loud and catching that not only Monty but even Chip despite his sharp pain couldn't help laughing.

*** 5 ***

Fat Cat got out of the gravel, spitting and shaking off his once exquisite suit now reduced to rags. Boiling with impotent rage, he shook his fist at the small plane. Despite his mouth being opened for the loudest scream possible, the cat said nothing. He was too short of breath to say even the shortest word, and besides no words was needed at all. Once again the Refuse Rangers defeated him and escaped leaving him totally empty-handed. Well, almost totally…

"Look what I found, boss!" Mepps ran up to Fat Cat and handed him Ranger's rope arrow he tore off that car. "It's Rangers' equipment! And we got it! It's a trophy! A gift of fortune!"

"Nice gift…" Fat Cat whispered through set teeth watching the crowd of people running by with Mathieu Vernier leading the way. Here they reached the refrigerators, opened the doors, and the rail depot resounded with the loudest scream it ever heard. It contained all kinds of emotions at once: surprise, distrust, relief and boundless joy of a man who first lost everything and then found it all again.

"THIS IS IT!" the businessman shouted. He was beside himself of happiness and jumped around like a schoolboy who was told he didn't need to go to school tomorrow. "THEY ARE HERE! MY BOXES! I KNOW THEIR NUMBERS! IT'S ALL HERE! MY CAVIAR IS HERE!"

"NO! IT'S MINE!" Fat Cat shouted waving the invoice above his head. "It's mine! Mine! Mine…"

He rumpled up the document now not even worth a paper it was printed on and threw it away in the dark. "Why?" he kept asking himself. "Why do they always interfere? Why they always happen to appear in the wrong place in the wrong time? How they do it?! HOW?!"

"Boss, may I keep it?" Mepps pleaded pointing at the arrow. "Please, boss!"

"Sure, Mepps, sure you can…" Fat Cat took the arrow and stuck it to alley cat's nose. "You can have it all!"

"Dangz, bozz! You are doo gind!"


	2. Chapter 2 Anxiety Ward

**Chapter 2**

**Anxiety Ward**

******* 1 ***

_December 8__th__, night_

"Please, Lisa, move it down a bit. Good, now to the left. All right, hold it still, that's exactly what's needed…"

An elderly mouse-doctor standing at the wide window made of thick plexiglas took off his misted over glasses and wiped them with a handkerchief. His bushy eyebrows knit, he rubbed his eyes tired from the daily routine, put his glasses back and went on commanding the actions of his assistant. Young squirrel nurse industriously pressed the buttons of a LameBoy pocket game console leant against the wall in vertical position. Numerous wires twisted into thick assembly emerged from a light gray case and ran beyond the leaden partition which separated the control room from the rest of the x-ray lab.

There, beyond the glass, x-ray tube mounted on the mobile holder was slowly moving in accordance with the nurse's commands. The tube was enclosed in the case impenetrable for the rays with a funnel directed exactly downwards, just like four laser pointers mounted on its sides. They were on now and four red dots were running across Chip's body, marking the limits of the area to be photographed.

When they were right above the foot of the chipmunk lying on the table, doctor told his assistant to stop and take a shot. The female squirrel pressed the large black button. Previously it served to launch the virtual rockets at the virtual enemies, but this time it turned the x-ray machine on. A low humming sounded, signifying the start of the generator, and electrical current rushed through the x-ray tube. When the timer counted the needed amount of time, the system automatically switched off and a black and white image of the mutilated foot appeared on the screen. When the doctor thoroughly examined it, he tutted his tongue contritely, then asked Lisa to help the patient out and exited the room into a corridor to meet Gadget, Monterey Jack and Zipper anxiously waiting for him.

"Doctor Stone, how is he?" the golden-haired mouse asked, her hands clasped in front of her clutching the first rag she found in her pocket.

"Well, Master Gadget, what can I say…" Stone turned to the mouse who took him by his hand staring nervously into his face. "I had seen worse in my life, that's for sure, but I must confess it's very serious."

"How much 'very' is this 'serious' exactly?"

"Four-five weeks of plaster and complete leg immobility, I think."

"Four-five weeks?!" Monty exclaimed. "Well, mates, looks likah our trip bit the dust! Or in this case, plaster…"

Gadget parted her hands. "It can't be helped, Monty. No one could have envisioned it. No problem, we'll go on vacation later, when Chip recovers!"

Doctor Stone was the embodiment of confidence. "Don't worry about that, my dear! I dare to assure you he'll surely recover and will become even better than he is now!"

"Wmidunno, doctor!" Gadget smiled. "As for me, Chip has no room for improvement. Not that he has any rooms, that is, I mean, he's already great enough so that…"

"What? Really?!" the familiar voice came. Everybody turned around to see Chip sitting on the wheelchair driven by the nurse. They appeared out of another doors further down the corridor, specially suited for wheelchairs' passing, and at first remained unnoticed.

"Sure!" Gadget's smile widened as she came up to him. "How do you feel?"

"As well as any other chipmunk after x-raying of his newly broken leg. Especially after these your words."

Mouse turned pink and tenderly tousled his cheek.

"And I thought you have got used to it already. They say one gets quickly accustomed to the good things."

"Maybe. But as for me…"

"Hey-hey-hey!"

It seemed that this loud and gaily cry was heard even in the human parts of the hospital. Everything was silent for some time, and then a sound of incoming tramping came from the far end of the corridor. It kept growing louder and soon the Rangers and the hospital workers discerned another sound against it, a low-pitched buzzing. And then another wheelchair appeared from around the corner, this time driven by Dale, closely followed by two orderlies. In order to lose them, chipmunk switched the engine to full power, but it was still moving too slowly, that's why he actively used his hands to turn the wheels. It helped and he even managed to break away from the pursuers a little. But the corridor led to a T-intersection, to enter which he had to slow down significantly to avoid the collision with the opposite wall, and the orderlies caught him.

"Hey, let me go! Leave me alone!" Dale protested when the orderlies began to literally tear him out of the wheelchair.

"What's going on here?!" Stone inquired sternly and the medical attendants, only now noticing the head of the hospital standing some foot and a half away, restrained their ardor a bit.

"Sorry, boss, but this, erhm, fellow without rhyme or reason sat into the wheelchair standing at the trauma center and tried to steal it!"

Gadget took Stone by his sleeve. "Golly, doctor! I assure you that my friend didn't want to do anything like that! He just…"

"Played fool!" Chip finished for her, as usual, enraged by his friend's prank.

"Well…" Gadget hesitated. "I'd say that he… You could say that, too, but… I mean—"

"Don't worry, Master, I understand it all," Stone turned his subordinates still holding Dale by his shoulders. "Everything is all right! Let him go and get back to your posts!"

"Understood, boss!"

Orderlies gently sat put Dale down on the wheelchair and went away, exchanging remarks in low voices about harm of noninterference towards the troublemakers. Dale grinned and waved his hand after them, then powered the engine back up and drove up to the others

"Doctor Stone, I'm so sorry!" Gadget once again took the old mouse by his hand. "I feel very uneasy about that. First you had to make this emergency x-ray, and then you were forced to settle a conflict…"

"Please, Master Gadget, don't mention it! In comparison with what you've done for our hospital that's an absolute nuisance! I'm the one who should feel sorry for having regarded your offer skeptically to say the least!"

The mouse inventor smiled, squirming. When she arrived at the hospital on 15th of June piloting the Wing overloaded with spare parts and offered her help, neither Dr. Stone nor his deputy, Dr. Spivey treated her seriously. Their reaction wasn't really hostile, rather it was genuine distrust only so partially hidden beneath a mask of politeness. What good could you expect from this young mouse girl in oil-stained overalls, with glittering eyes and hasty speech densely peppered with obscure technical jargonizes? The doctors didn't know, but they decided it won't do any significant damage either and gave her a chance.

The very first multi-purpose electrocar she built elated them, and when it came to the defibrillator and artificial respiration apparatus made literally from scratch and junk in just a half an hour each, delight gave place to reverent awe. In just a week the hospital changed dramatically, and a "Master" rank stuck to Gadget strongly. So strongly in fact that one day even Chip and Dale began to call her like that. Mouse laughed at that but said: "Forget it, guys! No titles, please! For you I'm just Gadget. Hope you don't mind?" Naturally, there wasn't anyone who would mind it in the vicinity.

"Oh, doctor, please…" she began but was interrupted by Dale's indignant chatter.

"It's horrible, no, terrible! They snatch honest chipmunks in broad corridor! That's called tyranny!"

"Honest chipmunks don't ride any old thing across the hospital!" Chip observed angrily.

"'Any old thing' indeed, you are quiet right here! That's not even a speed! Slower than the two stooges! Gadget, do you know if they have any faster wheelchairs here?"

"Basically, they are all the same with identical electrical motors from the toy racing cars…"

"Racing cars?! This one surely came from some electric sheep, if not tortoise!"

"Surely they are capable of much more. But high speed would have been largely unneeded in hospital's close quarters, that is, wards, 'cause there are no quarters here, that's why I furnished the engines with electronic high-speed governor which prevents the engine speed exceeding a certain fixed number of revolutions per minute. If you turn it off…"

Dale's eyes kindled with craving.

"How?!" He jumped out of the wheelchair and started examining its engine. "You're talking about this box with a thick cable connected to it? You mean, I can tear it off and everything will work like it sh… like it's supposed to?!"

"Well…"

Gadget didn't have time to answer because Monterey stopped her mouth gently but tightly.

"Gadget-luv, I understand everything, but it looks like the circumstances aren't too right!"

"Oh, sure… Please, excuse me. I must have been carried away…"

"Oh, great…" Dale uttered sadly. "In the most crucial moment, just like always…"

Chip didn't share his feelings. "The most crucial moment would be you crashing into something and breaking something precious down!"

"Oh, come on!" The red-nosed chipmunk dismissed his accusation with a wave of his hand. "I'm a natural born racer! And even _if_ I had crashed into something precious, Gadget would have repaired it in a jiff! No, not like that! She'd have built even better equipment! Right, Gadget?"

"Well, everything's possible…" the mouse shrugged, hands out and palms up. Then the old doctor spoke.

"Master, I know you are embodiment of modesty, but trust me ― I saw the equipment like the one you built only in human hospitals, and not in all of them!"

"Yes, our Gadget's the genius!" Dale echoed swiveling his wheelchair to get as close to the mouse as possible.

"And a first-class pilot, no point in pretending otherwise!" Monty seconded.

"Not to mention she's simply beautiful!" Chip added making Gadget, already embarrassed by all the compliments, to flush up completely.

"And an honorary donor of our hospital!" Doctor Stone added a ponderable touch to the picture.

"Donor?! You?!" Aussie voiced common astonishment. "Why haven't ya told us about it, luv?"

Gadget shrugged. "Well, I just… It's such a… natural, ordinary thing. And then I had that tomographer to finish and everything took a back seat… Well, you know how this happens…"

"It may be a common thing, indeed," Chip observed, taking her paw with his own. "But it's still a reason for us to be proud of you even more, despite—"

"—that's already impossible!" Dale cut him short taking the inventor by her another hand.

"Thanks, guys! I'm very pleased to hear that from you, I mean it!"

"And we mean it when we say that to you!" the chipmunks answered in chorus.

"Golly, I… Oh, gosh! Chip, you should have been in operating-room long ago! We've already overtaxed Dr. Stone's patience too much!"

"Oh, don't worry! I'm sure my colleagues will handle your friend well so my presence isn't needed. Lisa, take Mr. Chip and his friends there. I'll make arrangements about the ward."

"Great idea!" Dale joined in. "Monty, Zipper and nurse will take you there while we Dr. Stone with my and Gadget's help will arrange you the best ward in this hospital! Am I right, doctor?"

"Sure you are, young chipmunk!" Stone smiled. "For the leader of the heroic team of Rescue Rangers — no less than the ward de-luxe, if you can say so! Follow me, Master. You know friend much better than I do and will know what the best for him is!"

"Yes, doctor, you are right! Let's go!"

At the very first junction the procession split in halves. Gadget and Stone went straight ahead while Lisa turned Chip's wheelchair left, to the surgery, and Dale added the current to catch up with the inventor and the doctor. Driving past Chip, he patted his friend on the shoulder.

"Happy procedures, Chip! Me and Gadget will be waiting for you!"

"You know, Dale, the wheelchair suits you all too well!" the answer came.

*** 2 ***

The road to the rehabilitation section turned out nervous. Dale strived hard to turn the speed governor off while remaining unnoticed by Stone and Gadget walking next to him. But every time he groped for the cherished cable, the inventor turned around causing him to blink sheepishly at her reproachful smile and take his hand out from under the seat. Finally Gadget got tired with it and she took the reigns, or rather handles of government in her hands and drove Dale along the corridors from that moment on. The chipmunk settled back and time and again threw his head back to look into her eyes, growing blissfully happy when she looked down and their glances met.

During one of these 'rendezvous' he touched her paw with his fingers and said:

"You know, Gadget, in moments like this I really want to break something only to have you by my side, just like now…"

He smiled hoping to get a similar reaction for his half-joke, half-compliment. But shadow ran across the mouse's face instead of smile. Her lips became one thin line, and Dale felt her hand trembling slightly.

"Don't talk nonsense, Dale!" Gadget said strictly and stared before her.

"Oh, Gadget, I'm sorry! I didn't mean anything like…"

"Dale, do you really think you need to break something for me to notice… Golly, let's not talk about it, okay?"

"Sure, certainly!" Dale nodded heartily. The smile returned to mouse's face, and the chipmunk perked up reminding himself to pick words carefully.

The songs by "A-Kha" they sang during the concert had nothing to do with death or injuries, but after their performance Gadget started to take her friends' jokes involving life and health very sensitively. The culmination of it came after another one not so soft landing, when Monterey Jack answered the common 'Is everybody alive?' question with 'Yeah, but I'd better be off dead!' The moment he said it Gadget changed beyond recognition.

She shouted that he should have watched his words, that all of them should have watched their words, not to mention the words like… Then she turned away but it was clear from her posture and the loud breathing sounds that she was going to start crying. All the Rangers rushed to soothe her, and Monty almost cried aloud himself in the process of pleading to forgive his folly. In the end no single tear got shed, Gadget calmed down but demanded from the Aussie and the others to promise they'd never, under no circumstances, say anything even remotely similar to this phrase.

Nobody understood the reasons for such a reaction to Monty's harmless, without the least hidden motive growl, but all of them promised it and said no such things from that time onwards. Within Gadget's hearing range, at least.

The rehabilitation section was located in the south-western corner of the hospital. On the left side of L-shaped corridor were single and double wards while on the right side — four large general wards with doctor's on duty cabinet in front of them and four single intensive care wards which had to be made as large as the general ones to house all the medical equipment installed there.

As Stone, Gadget and Dale were passing large glass doors of the section, almost identical procession appeared from the third doors on the right. It consisted of a hamster-doctor, young female mouse and aged male squirrel. The medic's white gown strikingly contrasted with dark, almost black clothes of his companions, whose sorrowfully disturbed expressions indicated that this color scheme had been chosen for a reason.

"So there's no hope, doctor?" the mouse asked with pronounced trembling in her voice, shoving her hand into her jacket's pocket searching for a handkerchief. She found nothing and the squirrel came to her rescue, offering his own one which she gratefully used to blot the corners of her eyes.

"Mrs. Bucksup, please, understand me correctly," the hamster answered. "Everything happens, and sometimes even the patients with most unfavorable disease prognoses recover. If he were younger, I'd say he's got all the chances in the world. But in this age the organism is significantly weaker and unable to fight the illness effectively. We'll do everything possible, but I'd still advise you to, you know…"

"…prepare for worst, yes?" the mouse finished for him. She covered her face with a handkerchief and started shaking in silent weeping.

The doctor didn't answer but nodded shortly answering old squirrel's silent question. The aged rodent also responded with a nod, then took Mrs. Bucksup by her elbow and led her down the corridor to the lift.

"Mrs. Mouise, I know it's hard, and we mustn't give up hope!" He monished the young female in a low voice. "But trust my experience, while dealing with cases like this you'd better prepare everything beforehand…"

The mouse nodded.

"Yes, Perry, I know. Prepare everything… Just in case…"

"Sure, ma'am."

"Mrs. Bucksup?" Dale asked following the couple with his eyes. "Isn't she a relative—"

"Yes, young munk, she's the wife," Dr. Stone answered and turned to his colleague walking towards them.

It was Dr. Spivey, the Small Central Hospital deputy director and the head of Rehabilitation section. He was a tall hamster with thick dark brown fur and short sleek hair set into a tidy haircut with parting on the right. He was much younger than Stone, but his remarkable intellect which his eversquinted eyes shone with and great experience have already made him one of the most prominent rodent pharmacists on this side of the Pacific if not in the whole world. He knew both the popular and experimental human drugs by heart and knew how to convert just about any medicine from the Central City Hospital's storage into the remedy for his patients.

"Good evening, Doctor Stone!" The hamster saluted his superior. "Frankly speaking, I thought you'd already left…"

"Frankly speaking, Kurt, I thought the same. But our friends Rescue Rangers had some troubles…"

"Pity to hear that!" Spivey clasped his hands. "What diagnosis does Mr. Dale have?"

"I have no diagnosis whatsoever!" the chipmunk grew indignant. "The wheelchair just came in handy!"

"Oh, please, excuse me for God's sake, I didn't mean anything! I— Please, Master Gadget, don't tell me that's about you…"

"That's not about them, Kurt, but about Mr. Chip," Stone answered instead of her. "Nothing serious, but he'll have to stay here for some time. What's Mr. Harold's condition? Judging from his wife's reaction—"

"Yes, Doctor Stone—"

"Kurt, I've already asked you to call me by name. We know each other for a long time, after all. And don't feel shy about age difference, for in many respects you are even older than me!"

"Well, if you say so, doctor— Harvey. As for Mr. Bucksup, I'm afraid it has gone too far…"

"Waitaminute, are you talking and I thinking about the same person?" Dale asked, worried. "Harold Bucksup the Third?"

"Yes, it's him."

"You don't say so! And I thought it's about his son or someone like that! Mrs. Bucksup is so young and…"

"It's not our business, Dale!" Gadget interrupted him. "There's nothing ultimately wrong with it, after all."

"Yes, Gadget, you are right as usual!" Dale agreed in a hurry and did his best to forget it.

Meanwhile, Spivey went on with his report. "His immune system is weakened, resources of organism exhausted. No wonder, taking into account his very intense way of life."

"Constant stress is very dangerous thing, especially in his age…" Stone agreed.

"But maybe he can be helped somehow?" Gadget broke into their conversation. "Just tell me what to do, and I'll build everything in a jiffy! At least, I'll try!"

"Thanks, Master," Spivey said. "I don't doubt your abilities for a second! Your multifunctional analyzer alone deserves you a lifetime achievement monument! It's a true masterpiece, a full-fledged laboratory! Sure it's a complicated device, but we keep working with it and keep getting startled with it! You know, I had been working in this field for almost all my conscious life, but its abilities are beyond my imagination! Where did you learn all that? And, even more important, when did you find time?!"

"Let's say there was a period in my life when I had loads of time…" Gadget answered with a slightly strained smile.

"I know, Master," hamster grinned with understanding. "You always answer like that. However, I won't insist, 'cause it would be impolite at the very least. But let me thank you for this monumental creation one more time! I'm sure you'll be interested and even pleased to know that we've already mastered the blood analysis in full and moved on to the chemical one. I have absolutely no idea how you managed to pack all these functions into the device just forty cubical feet in volume! It's equal to me carrying human-sized scalpel in my pocket!"

"Thanks for the compliments, Doctor, but maybe I can—" Gadget tried to get back to the previous topic.

Spivey instantly grew serious. "Believe me, Master, he's got everything the doctor can order in his ward, but sadly some processes are just irreversible…" He paused, then added. "But then again, as I have told Mrs. Bucksup, we must hope. Not to mention Christmas is coming, which, as you know, is time for miracles… Well, looks like I held you up for too long already. If you need me, doc—" Stone frowned jokingly and the hamster hastily corrected himself. "Harvey! I'll be at my office. Tonight is my shift night, as you very well know."

"Sure, Kurt, sure. Good night and sweet dreams!" The old doctor said winking at his deputy. Spivey shook hands with all three, holding Gadget's hand slightly stronger and longer, and left.

"So what does it all mean?" Dale asked in a cheerless tone. "That Mr. Bucksup is going to…"

"Young chipmunk, let's not talk about sorrowful things right now," Stone said. Then he looked at the doors of the intensive care ward and nodded. "Though I know he would be pleased to know you worry about him. We all worry about him, but sometimes the medicine is helpless. Just helpless… Okay, let's go. I'll show you where your friend will be staying."

Having said that he motioned Gadget and Dale to follow him and headed to the doors with a placard reading "Ward No. 6".

*** 3 ***

The furnishings of ward no. 6 answered its name and purpose perfectly. A single bed, its head set against the wall, a small bedside-table with three drawers to the right and a crutch rack to the left. It originally stood on the right side, too, but was moved to make Chip's getting-ups easier. A chair and a clothes tree rounded the ensemble up. There were two windows, the smaller one to the left from the door faced the corridor, the larger curtained off one on the opposite wall — the street or, more precisely, the metallic shaft leading upwards, to the outside. The rehabilitation section was located on the underground floor, beneath the ground level, and the windows here were built on the same principle as the submarine periscopes. The upper end of the shaft stuck up outside gathering the sunrays which reflected off the two mirrors installed at the shaft bends and illuminated the ward. The shaft's inner walls were covered with polished aluminum foil which reflected almost all the light and during the day it was as light in the ward as outside.

Dr. Stone and Nurse Lisa left and only Rescue Rangers remained in the room. Chip was lying on the bed, already dressed in blue hospital pajamas; his faithful jacket and fedora decorated the clothes tree. The outlines of thick plaster cast enveloping his foot and reaching the middle of the shank could be distinctly discerned under the blanket. Dale still hadn't parted with the wheelchair which he stopped by Chip's left hand. Monty was standing in the center resting his mighty hands against the bed's back, while Zipper occupied his usual place on his friend's shoulder. Gadget was sitting to Chip's right on the one and only chair, holding her wounded friend by his paw and not rearing her alarmed gaze off him even for a second.

"Are you comfortable?" she kept asking. "Wanna me to cover you with a plaid? Does the leg disturb you? Is everything all right?"

"Sure, Gadget, I'm absolutely fine, honestly!" Chip reassured her. "The doctors here are great; they did a first-class job with everything. They finished everything in a blink of an eye!"

"Yeah, pally, you got off really lightly!" Monty laughed. "Reminds me of one time in Himalayas…" The big mouse began telling another of his mountain-tall tales but Gadget looked at him so expressively he got everything without a word and cut himself and the topic short.

"But we defeated Fat Cat once again!" Dale exclaimed gaily feeling it was time to liven the setting up. "I bet he won't be able to eat caviar in peace for a very long time now!"

"Me thinks he'll have hard time even looking at it!" Monterey Jack joined in and the five heroes laughed.

"Okay, friends, you have to hurry!" Chip said finishing his laugh. "I hope you haven't forgotten you've got a plane early in the morning?"

"Golly, Chip, what are you talking about?" Gadget asked. "What plane? We aren't flying anywhere!"

"Why?" Chip's surprise was as genuine as they come.

"Because of someone who doesn't know how to ball his legs prior to landing!" Dale noted with some acidity.

"Stop-stop-stop! You mean you aren't going anywhere? But you have waited for this for so long! Especially you, Gadget!"

The mouse parted her hands. "I know, Chip, but now, in the light of your trauma…"

"Oh, come on, guys! Broken leg, big deal! It's not worth ruining your plans!"

"You know, there's something to it…" Dale said thoughtfully but Gadget interrupted him.

"Stop talking nonsense, Dale! And you, Chip, also stop it! We can't leave you in a condition like this and leave to the resort! Right, guys?"

"Sure thin', luv!" Monty agreed. Zipper buzzed assent and Dale finding himself in the minority also nodded. Surely he wasn't burning with desire to leave Chip alone with serious injury at all. Still he had dreamt to get out of dusty and noisy city for too long to easily accept the voyage cancellation. Not to mention that the idea to spend several weeks in a tropical paradise along with Gadget and with no Chip around was too tempting…

Chip covered the inventor's fingers clutching his right paw with his left hand. "Please, Gadget, listen to me. I know that all of you and you in particular worry about me, and I'm very grateful for that. But trust me, I'll feel myself much worse knowing that all of you suffered from my folly, clumsiness and miscalculation. You deserved some real vacation, friends! This year we didn't have time to rest properly, for wherever we went, there was some job for us. Please, guys! Go!"

Despite perfectly understanding the chipmunk's feelings, Gadget kept insisting.

"Golly, Chip, four-five weeks won't make any difference! We'll go there when you recover! The beaches and palm-trees won't go anywhere!"

"And what about the eclipse?" Chip inquired insinuatingly.

He was referring to the main reason aside from warm weather and flourishing nature for which the Rescue Rangers decided to spend Christmas and New Year in Indonesia, on the island of Java. This particular island or, namely, the northern slope of its highest mountain, the Semeru volcano, was, according to Gadget's calculations, the best place in the world to watch the total solar eclipse which was about to happen on December 21st. Gadget had thoroughly prepared for the expedition. She even built the special portable multifunctional telescope which she planned to use to verify the validity of her several quite elaborate theories.

The investigation of strange events in Nosepick Observatory last August didn't go in vain. Soon after returning home Gadget expanded the Headquarters with a pavilion for astronomic observations. At first the chipmunks thought they wouldn't be able to see Gadget at all because of her constant business working either in her HQ workshop, or Small Central Hospital workshop, or with the newly built binocular telescope.

But turned out, the mouse inventor envisioned the observatory as a place to spend joint leisure from the start and she quickly made her friends keen on the world of stars and planets. In the end one couldn't keep Dale off the telescope as the large-nosed chipmunk flatly rejected to let it go until he found Tatooine, Arrakis and at least one Borg cube at once. In other words, everything turned out much better than anyone imagined.

"Yeah, Gadget, what's with our eclipse?" Dale joined in. "Your descriptions were so colorful! You said it's such a magnificent sight; that everything around you changes in a cool way; that it's as interesting as…"

Gadget nodded. "I know, Dale, but we can't help it. We can't leave Chip alone. Besides, the solar eclipses constantly repeat! The next one, for instance, will happen next year in April, with the best place to observe it located on the north of Greenland…"

Dale sighed. "Yeah, it's hard to find a better place for a vacation—"

"Dale-lad, ya aren't right!" Monterey made himself heard. "One walrus friend of mine— not _that_ walrus, the other walrus, told me that nothing in the world is more refreshing than the cold water around the Parapet Cape!"

"Ugh!" Dale shivered and muffled up into his sweater. "You know, Monty, you can be Monterey Jack-of-all-trades, but travel agent is clearly not one of them!"

The team laughed again, and then Chip turned to Gadget again.

"But you don't need to wait that long, Gadget. And besides, who knows where we'll happen to be in April. Believe me when I tell you that this is the best opportunity possible! Not to mention you aren't leaving me alone in some dark forest! What in the world can happen to me in the hospital?"

"But no one is kept in the hospital for so long—"

Chipmunk winked at her. "I'm pretty sure that in our, that is, my case they'll make an exception. I don't eat much, so I won't be a burden."

Despite her friend's joke, Gadget voice remained sad and worried. "I dunno, Chip. We have never parted for that long before—"

"Trust me, everything will be alright! By the time you come back my leg will heal completely and—"

"But Doctor Stone said it would take from four to five weeks! It's TOO long! And Christmas is the holiday celebrated together with the closest people! We— I don't know—"

"Here is my compromise plan, then. You go to Java as planned, wait for the eclipse and then return right after it. The eclipse is scheduled for the twenty first. You'll need another day or two to pack up and travel here, but owing to the time difference you'll arrive here on the twenty third, in the morning! That way you won't miss the eclipse and be here for Christmas! How do you like it?"

"That's great, Chip!" Dale exclaimed in rejoice. "It's great idea with the time difference! Even I wouldn't think of it right away!"

"Yeah, that's quite a bonzer idea there!" Monty agreed. Zipper also squeaked in approval. Chip smiled at his friends with encouragement and looked back at the mouse.

"Your word, Gadget."

"Chip, I— I really want to go, no doubt, but—"

"Go, Gadget. Please."

She looked down at Chip's hands holding her palm, then looked around at the other Rangers watching her expectantly, then turned her gaze back to the chipmunk. He nodded barely noticeably. She pursed her lips for some time, deciding, then spoke.

"Okay, Chip, if you insist— but we'll be back on twenty third sharp! Right, guys?"

"Sure thing!" the others nodded.

"Great!" Chip laughed reassuringly. Gadget smiled, too, and though nobody was feeding additional voltage to the lamps, the ward grew lighter.

Dale was just about to say something flippantly solemn when the knock at the door came and the orderly on duty appeared. He was a big mouse, only slightly smaller than Monty, with dark gray fur and ruffled black hair.

"Sorry, but the visiting hours ended long ago, so…"

"Yes, of course! We're leaving already!" Gadget said getting up. She turned back to Chip. "Well then, hold on here! Don't forget to write us from time to time, you know the hotels' addresses. We'll be writing you, too! Till Christmas! That is, till twenty third!"

The chipmunk on the bed nodded. "Till the twenty third."

The Rescue Rangers went away leaving the wheelchair behind despite Dale's weak protests. Gadget waved Chip goodbye one more time. He waved back, and the orderly closed the door.

*** 4 ***

"This Rescue Ranger can spoil everything!"

"But what can he nose out?"

"Being in the same section? Anything!"

"Well, that's a problem… Maybe, we should take care of—"

"And then his friends tear this place upside down. It'd be the stupidest thing to do!"

"But what's then, boss?!"

"I'll think of it. We still have time…"

*** 5 ***

No sooner had Rescue Rangers left than the orderly switched off the lights. Now only dim yellow light of corridor lamps shining to a half of their capacity and street post's white light seeping through a curtain lighted up the chipmunk lying still on the bed reflecting off his open eyes fixed upon the surrounding darkness. Listening to the muffled sounds of the hospital quieting down for the night, Chip kept thinking about the daily events, time and again rewinding the episodes of the railway station mission in his mind. And each and every time he inevitably returned to the last conversation with his friends. Soon they would leave to International Airport and board the plane heading to Taiwan, the first of the two which would get them to Jakarta.

After the operation in June Rescue Rangers avoided using the Human airlines and, turned out, they had a reason for it. The NTSB investigation of Flight NA10031 mysterious case revealed the cause of large-scale metal fatigue damage which nearly led to the airliner's engine separation being poor pylon design and its fuse pins in particular. The NTSB initiated the full check of all 747's in service of American airlines, the results of which were shocking.

On average, six out of ten aircrafts had at least one depreciated pylon, while on four aircrafts they were in a similar condition as the one on Northpacific 747. NTSB obliged all the airlines to make urgent replacements, and requested The Boeing Company to design new pylon modification taking into account all the recommendations. The first planes with improved pylons flew in the beginning of September, and by the end of the year they should have constituted no less than 75 % of the air fleet. Obviously, Gadget gave a green light for their flight on Boeing only after she had personally checked that the airliner they were about to fly was equipped with the new pylons.

However, despite all these impressive and far-reaching results, the investigation didn't answered the most important question — where the mysterious construct which held the pylon in place came from. Examination of witnesses and scrupulous study of surveillance cameras recordings resulted in nothing. No wonder, as Gadget had carefully planned the rescue mission in order not to get seen by airport employees nor caught on cameras.

Even more stupefying was the story of Gordon Wright, the air traffic controller responsible for the airplane's take off. While the investigators could imagine the mysterious do-gooders infiltrate the airport territory undetected, it would have been impossible for them to stay unnoticed in the crowded control room.

The case was transferred to the FBI, but its agents couldn't provide credible answers either. The most plausible version looked like this. On June, 13th, two to four men wearing camouflage and equipped with ladders infiltrated the territory of International Airport. They hid in the dense grass at the very start of Runway 28 where they waited for 747. When the aircraft turned his tail on them, they ran up to her, covered by the hull from the spectators on control tower. Putting their ladders against the pylon, they mounted the reinforcement frame with the speed of professional Formula 1 mechanics, and left as quickly and imperceptibly as they had come.

Though this version didn't explain the mysterious events on the control tower at all, it was adopted as the official one. The airport security was told to mount additional surveillance cameras and security posts along the perimeter and near the runways and the large cash reward was promised for any information about the names or whereabouts of the unknown heroes, which was still unclaimed for good reason…

_I wonder what they will do upon returning to the __HQ,_ Chip mused studying some spots on the ceiling. _Will they decide to have some sleep? Or look through all the things for a hundredth time, checking everything? No, they will probably sit in the kitchen with a battery of coffee mugs and discuss the events of the day. Or the future travel, which almost got cancelled because of me…_

He smiled remembering how hard it turned out to persuade Gadget to go on this trip. She really didn't want to leave without him. She was eager to abandon her most massive project of late, give up even the most ambitious of her plans, not even wanting to hear about going to another hemisphere while leaving him behind, even in the most suitable place in the world — a full-fledged rodent hospital.

She was right, though. They have never parted voluntarily for such a long time before, not since their very first meeting. Certainly the history of their team had some dark pages in it, with its members leaving for some time. But these break-ups never lasted long. Even Dale's freelancing, or rather, freerubbing, granted to him by the power of the comet piece, lasted for merely a month. That's why this parting was to become the longest, as well the rare one they all agreed upon and the unique one he personally insisted on.

Chip tried to imagine how he would have behaved in a similar situation at the end of May or the beginning of June. Would he have been as persistent? Most certainly he would have at first, conscience-stricken to have failed his friends. But then he would have definitely succumb to Gadget's pressure and rejoiced inwardly seeing Dale's anger and disappointment as he bid farewell to his dreams of a few weeks on the tropical island with Gadget and without Chip…

A sound of muffled steps came from the corridor and the Rescue Ranger instantly pricked up his ears. The steps were gradually coming closer and soon the chipmunk made out another, quieter sound. He didn't know it at first, but when the stranger came close enough he was able to discern a couple of words. The invisible person was muttering something to himself. Then the steps stopped and there was a clank, as though something metallic was dragged along the floor…

Or quickly unsheathed…

Bracing himself, Chip carefully, trying hard not to make a sound, fetched one of the crutches standing at the bedside and laid it over the blanket under his right hand so it wouldn't be visible from the door. He grabbed the crutch in such a way which allowed using it as club, then turned his head to the door, half-closed his eyes and started breathing deeply and slowly, pretending to be asleep. If the attacker was indeed armed with a blade, he would have to come close enough to get hit with the crutch. The most important thing now was to lull the enemy's vigilance and make the victim's "wake up" a genuine surprise. This should give him a couple of extra seconds…

Another strange sound came from the corridor. Chip tried to match it against all the ways to kill or stun a man he knew from the detective stories but came up with nothing credible. Most of all this sound resembled the accompaniment of water falling, but a reason for a criminal to pour the water standing at the doors of the room with his victim inside was beyond him. Then the sound stopped changing into a loud shuffling, like the one produced by someone with wet rags on his feet…

The next moment Chip was laughing so loud he would be inevitably heard by the entire hospital if he hadn't pulled the blanket up to his ears.

It was phenomenal. Unprecedented. Utterly fantastic…

The Great Chipmunk Detective, what's more to say! No, even better — super agent! In no time found a weapon and masterfully feigned sleep, getting fully prepared to meet— no, not an unknown killer. Not even Santa Claus.

Just an ordinary hospital janitor.

Quiet walking — not to disturb the sleeping patients. Murmuring — to relieve a daily and nightly routine at least a bit. Metallic clank — putting a water bucket down. Mysterious sound — wetting the rag and screwing water out of it. Shuffling — rubbing the floor with an aforementioned rag.

It's obvious. Even elementary.

Not for him, though.

At least, not straight away.

_Just like then…_ Chip thought, as if going anew through all the events of those long gone summer days, through his turning point. A moment of truth when all of a sudden you realize something very important and stop being the one you were before, becoming—

Better?

Smarter?

More mature?

"In any case, different," he concluded as the events of the past started whirling in his mind.


	3. Chapter 3 Phantom thought Pains

**Chapter 3**

**Phantom-thought Pains**

* 1 *

_June 14__th_

…_Take a look around and see_

_What's stopping you is stopping me_

_One moonless night we'll make it right_

_And vanish in the dark of night…_

In the run-up to A-Kha grand concert the auditorium of Fillimore Concert Hall changed radically. The rows of parterre were removed and a vast space in front of the stage was turned into a fan-zone. It allowed increasing the hall's capacity as well as creating the atmosphere habitual to the concerts of such stars. Norwegian band's music didn't caused tumults similar to those reigning during the concerts of more 'heavy' bands, but its tour repertoire still contained a number of inflammatory dance hits which were impossible to listen while seated, especially for young people. The elder audience who had jumped their share out during late 80's — early 90's took the seats in the semicircle amphitheatre.

Nine large plasma panels mounted on the scene showed the visual track specially designed for each song. When the band was performing something fast and loud the floodlights mounted round the stage and on the ceiling flared up brightly, going out when a slow song sounded, revealing the flames of old school pocket lighters and their modern counterparts, the illumination of cell phones rocking from side to side along with the music. This combination of sound, image and light created absolutely unique atmosphere in which the hardships of everyday life went away all by themselves giving the time and the place to unconstrained joy, bright memories, or deep thoughts…

"How do you like it, guys?" Gadget asked the very moment the last chords of another slow song faded away and the lights turned on again.

"As for me, it's great!" Dale responded fidgeting impatiently to her right. He could barely sit waiting for the Norwegians to sing his favorite song. "And no lightning bolts, thunder or aircrafts! It's unbelievable! The salesman must have palmed me off their two strangest albums!"

Mouse giggled and turned to another chipmunk sitting to the left of her.

"And what do you think, Chip? Like it?"

"Yes, very much so! Especially in times like this!" The chipmunk answered gazing at her like he did during the most part of the show. Now, when bright and warm colors prevailed in the illumination, her hair and dress sparkled with gold. Just a minute ago, when the floodlights were out and snowflakes and icebergs floated on the screens keeping time with the music, they looked like molten silver. This transition from cold moonlight to warm sunshine was captivating on its own merit, but the true enchantment was coming from hues of blue alternating in her beautiful eyes…

"Where?! Where are my 'Daylight Savings?' Where? I can't sit!" Dale stood up and jumped some not only to tell but to show his friends the agony of suspense.

"Try not to fall down, or it won't be the daylight but you who needs saving!" Chip responded in a chafe. Dale's chaotic motions distracted him from listening to the music and contemplating Gadget. Moreover, his unpredictable and risky escapades on the very edge of the ceiling beam the Rangers occupied caused Gadget's attention to be fully locked on him. As a result, Chip was feeling cheated out of his rightful share and, though he watched his friend closely, ready to run to his rescue any moment, time and again felt the cold stabs of jealousy. Sure thing, the next time Gadget glanced at him they thawed completely, but no sooner had another lively song started, the cycle repeated.

"Wow-wow-wow!" Dale grew agitated when the main floodlights went out again and white moving circles appeared on each of the screens. As the first percussion accords sounded, he jumped up from his place and almost fell down as he tried to assume three different combat stances at once. But Gadget managed to grab him by the flap of his tuxedo and make him sit down. During the intro Dale tried to spring up two more times but mouse knew it's safer for him to listen to this song in sitting position and held his elbow tightly. The red-nosed chipmunk quickly settled down having concluded that he'd have many opportunities to jump around while the chance to sit close to Gadget holding him by his hand presents itself too rarely to miss it. Besides, falling down from the sofa in the HQ hall is nothing compared to falling down into the fan-zone swarming with stomping people.

Chip's feelings were some strange mixture of triumph (on account of Dale calming down at last which meant he wouldn't distract him from watching Gadget anymore) and jealousy (Gadget held Dale's hand just a bit too tightly for his liking). But then the mouse put her hand around Chip's shoulder and all the negative emotions disappeared at once letting him to listen to the song easily and seriously. To his astonishment it evoked such an echo in his heart like no previous song.

_Hey driver, where're we going_

_I swear my nerves are showing_

_Set your hopes up way too high_

_The living's in the way we die_

_Comes the morning and the headlights fade away_

_Hundred thousand people...I'm the one they blame_

_I've been waiting long for one of us to say_

_Save the darkness, let it never fade away_

_In the living daylights_

'_That's really interesting…'_ Chip couldn't help thinking as he skewed at blissful Dale remembering all the moments when he was going to tell Gadget about his feelings only to be interrupted by his sudden advent. Sometimes accidental, sometimes not…

_All right, hold on tight now_

_It's down, down to the wire_

_Set your hopes up way too high_

_The living's in the way we die_

_Comes the morning and the headlights fade in rain_

_Hundred thousand changes...everything's the same_

_I've been waiting long for one of us to say_

_Save the darkness, let it never fade away_

_In the living daylights_

'_They seem to have written it with me in mind…'_ he mused while listening to the long instrumental part and peering into the flickering of orange dots and lines on the screens as if hoping to find the answers to his questions somewhere there, among the intricate curves of computer graphics…

_Maybe I should tell her about it? Right here and now?__ No, she may miss my words behind the music—_

"_Or pretend to have missed them…"_

_No, wait, she's not like that! But it would be wiser to wait…_

"_By the way, what answer do you expect to get?"_

_Comes the morning and the headlights fade away_

_Hundred thousand people...I'm the one they frame_

_In the living daylights_

_That's some strange question, really. Certainly, a positive one!_

"_Why so sure?"_

_Uhm, well—_

"_That's the point…"_

"Did you like the song, Chip?"

_I don't know, but— but I have to try!_

"Chip?"

"Oh, what? Sorry, Gadget, I must have, erm, digressed somewhat—"

"A-ha!" Dale exclaimed triumphantly. "And what did you say earlier today? 'Shouts, screams, noise, impossible to think…!'"

"Yes, I said that! What of it?"

"But you said it!"

"So what?!"

"It's that!"

"What's 'that'?!"

"That's it!"

"Golly, guys, stop it!" Gadget said strictly looking in turn at her friends already prepared if not for a fight then for a loud quarrel at the very least.

"Sorry, Gadget, we are— by pure accident!" Dale apologized immediately, his expression changed from angry grin into ingratiating smile.

Chip followed his friend's example. "Yeah, Gadget, I'm sorry! You were asking something—"

"I was asking if you liked the song."

"You know…"

Leader of the Rescue Rangers hesitated trying to find the optimal strategy of incoming conversation. How to start with the song and then subtly approach the most important question? He needed some peg to hang on, or rather, to use as a springboard…

…_I've been waiting long for one of us to say_

_Save the darkness, let it never fade away…_

_That's it! That's a perfect start! And then… And then we'll see!_

"You know, Gadget—" Chip started again but then Dale broke in having lost all the patience.

"Yeah, Chip, tell us what you think about A-Kha and their song for Dirk Suave movie now! Isn't it ingenious?"

Chip was so startled that he plumb forgot all the words he was going to say. "WHAT?! How can it be?! You said it's called 'The Daylight Savings'!"

"No, I didn't!" Dale answered instructively, raising his finger in the air for greater show-off. "I said it was a main title song from Dirk Suave movie entitled 'The Daylight Savings'! But the song is named 'The Living Daylights'!"

"But— But how can it be a main title song if it isn't named as the movie?!"

"It _is_ named as the movie! It's just that the movies about Dirk Suave are filmed in Britain and the song was named after the British original title! But in this country it was released under the title 'The Daylight Savings' to avoid the confusion with a late-late wrestling show!"

"Fascinating…" Chip said tamely, crushed by this reasoning made by Dale. First, because it was REASONING made by DALE. Second, because he was ashamed to confess he had liked the song from a stupid movie which now seemed absolutely insipid and even somewhat vulgar, just like all the Suave movies.

"So, Chip, did you like it?" Gadget repeated.

"You know, Gadget, I didn't."

His answer surprised her. "Really? But you were listening so attentively, I saw it—"

"Yes, you are right. At first I found it okay, but then it grew blank, scant and all— In other words, just a bit over the average!" Having said that, Chip's confidence came back. He always preferred to acknowledge his mistake than accept Dale's rightfulness.

"I see…" Gadget said and turned her attention back to the stage. There one of the band members was taking his guitar off preparing to sit behind the piano moved out from behind the curtains for the next song.

"And I liked it very much!" Dale quickly took the initiative, then threw a telltale glance at Chip. "Especially the 'I've been waiting long for one of us to say…' portion!"

"Yes, it was nice!" the mouse agreed.

Chip mentally bit a large piece off his hat reprobating himself for arrogance and foolery and for the rest of the concert he was as gloomy as a thundercloud ripe with rain.

* 2 *

_June 15__th_

The first working day of the new week turned out busy for the Rangers. Early in the morning Gadget crammed with spare parts the Ranger Wing's cabin, cargo net and the training container she put on the manipulators still mounted on the plane's bow and flew to the Small Central Hospital. But not before she asked her friends to dismantle the ARK training facility and some of the pulleys.

This pulley system she built on Saturday was very handy, allowing quick transportation of heavy parts from the workshop to the landing strip in front of hangar or down on the ground, to the garage doors. But at the same time it was bulky, impractical and unsightly, not matching the tree's geometry and covering some windows. On Saturday she was too focused on speed, reliability and simplicity so aesthetics bothered her as little as they come. Now, when everything ended and the life went on, it was time to think of convenience and appearance.

Mouse planned to cover the hole hastily cut in workshop's wall with vertical metallic shutters. She also wanted to replace the conglomeration of simple pulleys with three telescopic cranes. Folded, they would be stored in the tree trunk's sockets and extended on demand, covering all the distance between the workshop and the hangar and even a little further, just in case.

In short, the amount of work was heroic, so the team rolled up their sleeves and got down to it. Chip worked especially hard, because the labor helped him to get away from the compulsive memories about yesterday failure. As the presence and looks of Dale alone reminded him of that, he did his best to work in the other area together with Monterey, Zipper or even on his own, every time choosing the most distant crane. Whether it was anger whipping him up or Dale's absence meant he had no one to argue with, but he worked so fast and neatly that he failed to notice when everything Gadget asked them to do was done, and way before the lunch time.

"Looks likah we're bonzer lads, fellas! Whaddaya think?" Monty asked taking an evaluating look over the field of completed work.

"I think we did well!" Dale agreed rubbing his muzzle with wet towel. "Gadget will be very happy to see this!"

Chip still needed a vent for the negative emotions. "I'm sure she'll be even happier if we overfulfil her task! What do you think?"

"I dunno, Chippah!" Monty scratched his head. "Me senses tell me I won't be able to look at all this cranes and bolts without shiver for some time!"

"Me too!" Dale nodded. "My vote goes for the rest!"

"Well, then…" Chip pondered frantically about productive ways to spend time. "Wait! I know! Let's go to the police station, maybe there's job for us! Last time we went there—"

"On Friday!" Dale interrupted him. "Nah, that's too boring! Heat, flies… Sorry, Zipper, I didn't mean you at all!"

"I'll go alone, then!" Chip said resolutely heading towards the stairwell to the garage.

"Wait, Chippah, I'm with ya!" Monty followed him. "Who knows, maybe Spinelli's got some spare cheese balls for me!"

"Wait for me!" Zipper buzzed catching up with his old friend.

"Okay, go if you wish!" Dale shouted to them. "If you need me, I'll be listening to my music!"

"Just don't break the floor while jumping around!" Chip bid him sarcastic farewell. He thought Dale would listen something heavy and loud as usual. He didn't know about A-Kha's disks which his friend fetched from the deepest and dustiest corner of the disk shelf with his music collection. The red nosed chipmunk was full of determination to listen to all their songs, no matter how many thunder strikes and taking off planes were there. One thing he knew for sure: Gadget enjoyed their music very much, and he trusted her choice like his own, and even slightly more.

Chip obviously didn't see that, which was for the better actually. Things were rough enough for him and this additional information would have been nothing but salt for his wounds.

Not to mention that the real ordeal for him was yet to come.

The vigil on the police precinct's old ceiling fan resulted in nothing. No matter how attentively Chip looked at the faces of rare visitors or listened to the blundering accounts of events they provided for policemen, pined with heat, he found nothing worth Rescue Rangers' attention. No missing pets. No robberies, incomprehensible from human perspective, which could have been masterminded by Fat Cat, Capone or some other gang of animal criminals. No mysterious accidents, unreasonable at first sight, which could mean that Professor Nimnul once again reverted to his old habits.

The more time passed after the Bottlebottom operation, the more convinced Rescue Rangers became that Norton Nimnul's criminal activity had come to an end. As the head of research center security promised, he was awarded with the National Security Medal, and in a brink of an eye the rogue scientist became a national hero. Many famous journalists, among them Garry Prince, interviewed him, he was invited to take part in popular shows and even included in the jury of National Student Technical Contest. On top of that, Princeton University offered him a professorship. And Nimnul, ultimately convinced that it's not necessary to conquer the world in order to gain its recognition, went on to reap the benefits of calm and peaceful glory. At least, that's how it looked like from the outside.

Basically, Chip wasn't against such an outcome at all, for it meant they managed to save the world from the plotting of yet another evil genius once and for all. But he also felt something was missing. After all, all their confrontations with the professor presented the real challenge and the mysterious occurrences with which they had usually began were the true gages for his intellect and detective's sense. Chip rarely had the opportunity to feel himself Sureluck Jones and now it looked like these moments would become even scarcer.

All in all, yet another tour of duty went by tediously aside from the loud telephone quarrel between Spinelli and someone from the maintenance section concerning the air conditioner. The elaborate word constructions sergeant was using caused Chip, Monty and Zipper to roll with laughter around the fan, and when Spinelli slammed the receiver down and opened the pack of cheese balls stored in his drawer, the Australian mouse jumped to get some livening up both Rangers vigil and the routine of the policemen.

"Well, Chippah, looks like the day isn't too cheesy if ya know what me mean!" Monterey Jack observed when they went up to the roof to the old but reliable mousetrapults.

Chip sighed. "Looks that way, Monty. Then, maybe it's for better, who knows? It can mean that our work doesn't go in vain and the number of crimes is indeed decreasing!"

"Great if true!" his companion nodded and took his seat in his personal, specially adjusted to his weight mouse-thrower while Chip sat into the ordinary one. Zipper launched the acorn with the force needed to fire two catapults and three friends made their thousandth flight "Police station ― Rescue Rangers HQ". The first thing they saw upon landing was the Ranger Wing standing in front of the hangar.

_Gadget has come back._ Chip surmised. _And she's probably in the workshop now. Looks like the chance. I should go to her now, before she leaves again and while Dale's jumping around the main room with his earphones on, seeing and hearing nothing― Yes, this is it! The moment of truth!_

Monty and Zipper stayed in the kitchen cooking dinner while Chip went upstairs. "If only it worked, if only it worked…" he kept mumbling to himself. "I just need to slip past the hall and upstairs without Dale seeing me and…"

_Waitaminute!_

Chip stopped and listened attentively. When Dale was listening to his music, shouts and stomps could be heard from the outside, but all was quiet now. Unnaturally and suspiciously quiet.

Treading carefully not to let a floorboard squeak, Chip approached the hall doors and peeked around the corner.

The room was empty. The CD player was turned off and the thin black wire ran across the room to the sofa where the headphones lied, thrown offhandedly.

The chipmunk felt a spurt of cold sweat running down his spine and the tight knot of bad premonition tying in his chest. Something was wrong here. Not too many things in the world could draw Dale away from listening to his favorite music. One of them, hunger, could be discarded right away because they didn't find him in the kitchen…

_Maybe he's in our room?_

_Sure! He must be there reading the next issue of some comic book, oblivious to everything around him!_

Chip went downstairs to their room, but Dale wasn't there. The second guess was also incorrect.

_Maybe he went for a walk?_

_That should be it! He had listened to all the songs and went to __get some air after his jumping around! Quite simple, really!_

Chip returned to the hall and went to the entrance to check if Dale was sitting on the porch or a nearby branch. The desire to finish this riddle as fast as possible urged him on, and he was moving so fast he almost fell down, stumbled over the earphones cable…

He stopped short, his nerves tight as strings. Or rather, like this ill-fated cable stretching from the player to the earphones Gadget built for Dale.

Gadget. For Dale.

_Maybe that's the reason?!_

Chipmunk looked up at the workshop doors hidden behind the upper floor balcony. There were no usual sounds coming from that direction. No hammer strikes, no welding machine's hissing, no clashing of cases with spare parts moved around…

_What if Dale beat me to it? What if right now he's saying the words I was going to tell her?—_

…_I've been waiting long for one of us to say_

_Save the darkness, let it never fade away…_

_What if Dale's waiting is over?—_

_So that's what it all was for… That's the reason for it!_

---

"Okay, go if you wish! If you need me, I'll be listening to my music!"

"Just don't break the floor while jumping around!"

---

_I__'ve got to be a complete fool to take that bait!_

Now it was obvious that Dale stayed in Headquarters not because he wanted to listen to the music but to wait for Gadget to return from Small Central Hospital…

Chip darted upstairs. While jumping over the steps and running towards the workshop doors he had time to go through the same scene at least ten times. He envisioned himself swinging the doors wide open and seeing the two of them embracing each other. They keep kissing for some time, not paying attention to the world around them, but then Dale notices him with a corner of his eye and freezes. "What happened, my love?" Gadget asks him as she opens her eyes. She turns to trace the look of her beloved and blushes seeing him. "You know, Chip—" Dale begins uncertainly. "We wanted to tell you a long time ago—" the mouse continues. "Me and Gadget—" Dales speaks again, then Gadget takes turn: "Please, Chip. You are strong and handsome, but—" They fall silent for a moment, exchange telltale glances and, having took hearts, say in unison: "We love each other!" And all that's left for him is to roar like a wounded grizzly bear and run away from the HQ and the city park knowing for sure that his life has meaning no longer—

The workshop turned out empty, too.

Breathing heavily from the very fast and very nervous run, Chip stood in the doorframe for a couple of minutes, then screwed his eyes up and shook his head trying to make the colorful spots dancing before his eyes go away. You could easily go crazy with an imagination like that…

There was another question on the agenda now, though.

_Where's Gadget?_

The Wing is at the hangar, that's the undeniable fact. So she has returned from the SCH already. But where did she go after that? She is neither in the workshop, nor on the lower floor, nor in the hall—

What about her room?

What can she do there which can't be done in the workshop…?

_Oh, boy, it's elementary!_

What can Gadget do in her room after one month of almost permanent sitting in the workshop, mad Saturday and busy Sunday, not to mention several hours of today's work in the hospital?

Rest.

Now Dale's absence was perfectly explainable. Gadget asked him not to be too noisy, and he went to jump somewhere else. To the fountain, for instance. Or maybe he went to the shop for new comic book. That's Dale, after all, who's capable of coming up with the craziest ideas about how to waste his time!

Even crazier, than those he came up with…

_They say Monday is a hard day not without reason. As Monty once put it, 'on Mondays yer head doesn't cook!', though in my case it cooks something wrong instead— By the way, about cooking. I need to eat some. And calm down. It seems I grew a bit too hungry and nervous about all of this…_

Chip went to the kitchen trying his best to step as quietly as he could, not wanting to disturb the sleeping mouse beauty and glad that this 'case' was finished. In truth, to dismiss all the doubts once and for all he should have go and see her, but he was already too ashamed of what he fancied en route to the workshop to break into her room now. It remained only to wait for Dale to come back, and everything would come to normal.

"Have you seen Dale?" Chip asked entering the kitchen. Only now, breathing the delicious aroma of acorn cutlets under the cheese sauce, he knew how much hungry he was. He quickly sat down, rubbing his hands licking his lips in anticipation.

"No, they haven't shown up yet!" Monty answered.

Chip didn't get it at first. "Who's 'they'?"

"Dale an' Gadget. They took da Rangermobile and went to Moe's toy shop to get some batteries for the Wing and suction cups for Gyrotank."

"How do you know?" Chip asked, astonished. He ran up and down the house but didn't find anything suggesting such a conclusion and couldn't understand how Monty came to it without leaving a kitchen.

Monty winked at the addled chipmunk. "Telepathy, lad! See that big metallic plate on da table? I looked in it, cast the needed spells and here you are — the truth revealed itself to me!"

"Oh, come on, that's impossible—"

Aussie frowned. "Not believing me? After all happened on Saturday?"

"Uhm, well…"

Monty looked grimly at Chip who was trying to come up with a sensible answer, but finally let it go and laughed soundly.

"And you are quite right! Sure I didn't have to cast any spells 'cause I know how to read without any. There was a note in there. Here, look!"

Monty fetched a paper folded in four from his apron pocket and threw it to Chip. He unfolded the note and read:

"Me and Dale took Rangermobile and went to Moe's toy shop to get some batteries for the Wing and suction cups for Gyrotank. We'll be back soon.

Gadget."

_Well, that explains everything except why they left the note in the kitchen instead of the hall…_

Because Dale knew that they left to the police station and would return through the hangar. So they left the note right under their very nose. But he was too much in a hurry to notice the notes left by his friends.

_Yet again everything is as simple as ABC. _Chip mused._ Looks like I'm getting out of shape. Need to read something by Howard Baskerville, it always helps. Yeah, that's what I'll do!_

Chip put the note aside and began to eat. Monty cutlet's proved to be as tasty as they looked and just melted in the mouth and their combination with thick plum juice created such a gamma of taste that made Chip forget about all his previous worries. Then again, there was nothing exceptionable in Gadget's and Dale's joint trip after the spare parts. On the contrary, everything was perfectly natural as it would have been too hard for her to get all the parts from the shelves and load them onto the Rangermobile, wouldn't it?

Upon finishing his meal, Chip thanked Monty and left to his room. He stepped over the disks scattered around the floor, yet another proof that Dale was absolutely hopeless when things concerned tidiness and order, and went up to the bookshelf. After some thinking he decided in favor of a dark-blue tome of "The Return of Sureluck Jones", ensconced on the bed and sank into the atmosphere of Victorian England with its old mansions, dark mysteries and hapless policemen assisted by the great maestro of private investigation Sureluck Jones and his faithful companion Doctor Blotson.

This particular collection of stories was his favorite and was capable of relieving him of any depression and even the gloomiest of thoughts. Chip knew all this stories almost by heart, but each time read them with great interest, time and again experiencing the same bright emotions as when he opened them for the very first time. He laughed just as hard as before while reading "The Adventure of the Full House" and vividly imagining poor Blotson's expression at the moment the doctor saw his old friend alive and kicking; and up until the very end he prayed silently for the experienced killer to take the bait, shoot the mannequin and give the police the reason to arrest him.

After that it was time for the story of the Sherwood repairman when only Jones's perception saved an innocent young man framed by his business partner. And then a real masterpiece, "The Dancing Soldiers". How Chip wished to encounter a code like this someday, at first sight harmless and senseless, but in truth hiding some very intricate plot…

The chipmunk closed his eyes setting his imagination free, but almost immediately sighed deeply. Dreams, dreams… Sure he wasn't the one to complain about a dull life, for just a day before yesterday he and his team saved the whole passenger airliner. On the other hand, his personal contribution into the team's success consisted of merely an installation of four arcs while the lion's share of the job was done by Gadget. Even the thrill of looking for the needed parts around the city's vast storehouses was eliminated by her exhaustive directions. So exhaustive there were simply no room for mysteries, puzzles or sudden discoveries.

Sighing one more time, Chip went on reading. And almost immediately his sadness vanished as the next story, "The Solitary Rider", proved vividly that the dark secrets were waiting for us everywhere, hidden behind the most common and trivial things. How dangerous could a young woman's, a musical teacher, ordinary Sunday ride along the crowded roads to the railway station be? Very, as the following events showed. Up to her abduction to force her to marry the unprincipled and cruel plutocrat…

A little alarm bell clanked in the very corner of Chip's mind. It did so very weakly, barely noticeable, but everything around him instantly started to look slightly different. The furniture grew blacker, the shadows in the corners ― thicker and deeper…

_Sure they will be deeper! The sun's gradually moving to another side of the tree making them and everything around darker…! Time to make a break! Lots of detective stories in a row can be equa__lly harmful!_

With this thought Chip got up with the book underarm and went to the kitchen to get some more plum juice, glancing at the top bed bulk along the way. Not but that he really thought that Dale could have entered the room and climb there unnoticed while he was lying on the bottom bulk. Reading never engrossed him that much, after all. He just decided to make sure. As expected, Dale wasn't there. Monty, though, was at the kitchen cutting up bunch-onions for the salad, just like when Chip left him.

"Did they come?" he asked taking the juice pot from the fridge. It had just the needed temperature for a hot summer evening.

"Not yet." Aussie answered.

"Really? I wonder what could take them so long."

"Various things. Ya know Gadget, don't ya? Even I sometimes have problems with pulling her away from some technical thingy!"

Chip couldn't disagree, especially after the last month. "Right you are. I'll be in the hall then if you need me."

He finished his cup of juice and went upstairs where there was lighter. There he sat at the small table by the window, turned on a little lantern over his head and returned to the world of the book. "The A-Priory School", "Black Jack", "The Milverton Adventure", "Three Napoleons", "The Sixth Student"… He literally devoured the stories, turning pages faster and faster, sensing clearly that the feeling of some strange dismay he desperately tried to run away from, still creeps up on him…

"The Adventure of the Silver Pince-Nez". A short-sighted woman secretly enters the house of her former husband to get back her diary stolen by him. This diary could reveal many disturbing things about his past and help free an innocent man from prison. Unfortunately, she was caught by her husband's secretary who didn't sleep well that night and heard her moving around. He tried to catch her and she hit him with the first thing she laid her hand on ― a heavy paper-weight. The secretary dropped dead, the noise awakened everybody in the house, and the pince-nez she was helpless without fell to the floor and got lost. And here she is, moving slowly and blindly through the house in the directions of the exit, but takes the wrong turn and finds herself not on the street, but in her husband's room…

Another ring clanked, this one louder than the previous.

_And what does it mean?_ Chip wondered. _Confused two identical corridors, took the wrong turn―_

"_Maybe you did the same?"_

_The same? Took the wrong turn? When, where to?_

But the thought eluded the Rescue Ranger. He knew it was there, like a tight wool ball of mystery, but Chip couldn't catch it by the thread and unwind yet.

He braced himself and got back to reading. _Oh, come on! That's just some mind games of tired nerves―_

"Chippah, lad!"

Chip turned to the doors to meet the mouse's worried stare. "What's that, Monty?"

"They haven't returned yet, and me was thinking…"

"Haven't returned?!" Chip jumped up and looked at the electrical watches, their black digits barely visible in the orange rays of the setting sun slowly sinking into the ocean. "It's evening and they haven't shown up?! This is―"

"Some crikey situation, yes. That's why I came―"

"To the search, immediately!" Chip shouted darting to the stairway, but Monty stopped him by asking a simple but still very logical and important question.

"By what?"

Chip froze on the topmost step in a pose his friends words caught him.

_By wha__t?_

"The Wing…" he said cautiously.

"Batteries," Monterey responded.

"Rangermobile."

"They gotchit."

"Gyrotank."

"Plungers and dryer."

The plungers were used to build the ARK. The hairdryer was a part of the training complex and was lying in the corner of the garage waiting to be mounted back. Waiting for Gadget.

"Ranger Plane―"

"Nope!" Monty answered. He was referring to the landing on the Ice-Dome. Though Gadget did everything possible to land the Ranger Wing with the Plane attached to it softly and reliably, there was still a couple of center-of-gravity and banking mishaps. As a result, only one wing of Ranger Plane was functioning at the moment, which made her capable of flying in circles only.

"Then… Then… By foot! And wings!" Chip added looking at Zipper flying nervously in 'eights'. "Rescue Rangers, away!"

"Away!" The mouse and the fly rose up to his call, and never before had the team's battle cry sounded so dispiritedly.

The three Rangers returned to Headquarters not too long after the watch in the hall beeped midnight. Zipper said he would make another circle around the park. Chip and Monty nodded silently and went to the kitchen. There they sat behind the table in silence, staring at the note their friends left behind as if it could help somehow. They couldn't do anything. They were tired, worn out and desperate.

In the last several hours they have been to everywhere. Went along the route from the city park to Moe's toy shop twice, asking all the rodents and birds they met on the way. Showed their friends' pictures, described Rangermobile, checked out every trifle. Everything was for naught. Yes, a blonde mouse in blue coveralls and a red-nosed chipmunk in Hawaiian shirt were seen near the Moe's shop. But it was at day-time. After that they seemed to have simply vanished together with the Rangermobile and all the parts. In spite of many onlookers remembering to have seen the strange machine powered by the fan, nobody could say when exactly it had been or where exactly it had been heading.

The friends went to Small Central Hospital then, thinking that the visit to the toy store could have inspired Gadget to build some new medical device. Somehow they didn't want to consider other reasons for their friends to end up in the hospital…

But in SCH they were told that the ingenious mouse that had come there earlier and impressed everyone with her inventions flew away in her plane and since that time hadn't been seen again, technician or patient. This was good news meaning there was still hope they were alright and just stumbled upon a case worth their attention. After all, Moe's store was the place where the Rangers got on the trail of remote controlled ships stolen by Capone's gang. But it was still a very poor consolation. Too many things can happen to a chipmunk and a field mouse on the crowded streets of the megapolis…

"Wanna eat some, Chip?" Monty asked. He took one of the plates covered with plastic lids from the kitchen table and placed it in front of the chipmunk. "I served everythin' back in the evening, even divided it into da portions. If it's cold, I can warm it―"

"WHAT?!" Chip yelled. These simple words blew all his pressure valves at once. "How can you even think about food now?! Have you forgotten?!"

"THAT'S YOU WHO FORGOT WHOM YOU ARE TALKING TO, MATE!!!" Monterey roared so loudly and powerfully that at first Chip thought he'd be blown away out of the HQ by an air stream. "Have you forgotten that Dale is my fellah too?! And that Gadget is like daughter to me?! Have you forgotten that?!!"

"No, Monty, I haven't. Sorry, I overreacted―"

Monty's rage faded away just as quickly as it flared up and he spoke apologetically:

"Don't mention it, lad, I know it. I'm on da verge meself."

"Yes, you're right. We need to calm down and think. Think…"

"Really, Chip, eat somethin'. We'll do no good now, especially without the machines. Only if ol' Zipper finds something―"

"Yes, yes, indeed, but you know―" Chip looked at the plate in front of him with something savory visible through a misted cover. "I doubt I'll be able to eat anything right now."

Monty nodded. "Sure." He removed the plate from the table and placed on top of another, identical one. "Me too, as you can see…"

"I'll be― upstairs. In the hall. Call me when― When Zipper comes back, okay?"

"Of course"

"Till the news, then," Chip waved his hand and pottered upstairs, consumed with the darkest of premonitions, and repeating over and over: _If only they were alright. If only they came back. If only I could see them once more…_

Up in the hall he occupied his favorite armchair and just sat there for a few minutes, eyes closed, again and again going from the HQ to the Moe's toy shop in his mind's eye. When he confirmed once again that there are too many options, he sighed, took a tome of Sureluck Jones stories he had left there and looked at the great detective's side-face stamped on the cover. This man knew for sure how to sift through all the options and choose the one and only correct one from them. He did it in the short about the pince-nez and did it again in the next one, entitled "The Missing Wicketkeeper". It was one of the most interesting stories in this collection, and Chip remembered it so well he didn't even need to open the book as the text appeared before his eyes all by itself.

It was a story about a key player of a college cricket team who disappeared right before the key match. Everything pointed at the opposing team, but Sureluck Jones almost immediately knew that everything is much more complex. Or simple, depending on how to look at it. It wasn't a kidnapping or a murder; it wasn't even a crime as such. Simply the young man heard that in three days his girlfriend's stepfather was going to marry her with the arrogant son of the noble and wealthy family. In order to distract the attention and buy some time, he left a note in his room telling that he went to receive a parcel from home and ran away to secretly marry with his beloved, thus spoiling the vicious plans…

The third bell clanged, loud as knell.

Or wedding bells' chime.

The book slipped out of Chip's hands and fell on the floor with a loud tap. Chip didn't hear it, though. He was too far away at the moment to hear it…

---

"And I liked it very much! Especially the 'I've been waiting long for one of us to say…' portion!"

"Yes, it was nice!"

---

_No…_

_It can't be…_

---

"Okay, go if you wish! If you need me, I'll be listening to my music!"

---

When this thought occurred to him for the first time, he ran to the workshop. They weren't there, and he let himself to calm down.

But the workshop had nothing to do with it at all.

"_This is the wrong corridor. You are looking in the wrong place…"_

---

"Me and Dale took Rangermobile and went to Moe's toy shop to get some batteries for the Wing and suction cups for Gyrotank. We'll be back soon.

Gadget."

---

The note was a smoke screen to prevent the other Rangers from going to search for them right away. And then, when they go searching, to show them the wrong direction and buy an additional time. Time for―

_NO! IT CAN'T BE!!!_

But it was…

---

…_Take a look around and see_

_What's stopping __you is stopping me_

_One moonless night we'll make it right_

_And vanish in the dark of night…_

---

One link attached to another and together they formed one long chain of facts and corollaries, just too logic to ignore it…

Chip barely knew what was going on and what he was doing. His mind was controlled by pure instinct and the body acted on its own.

_I've got to find them at all costs!_

Grab the arms of the chair and push with all the might, passing half the distance to the door at one leap.

_I need to find them now, alone, without waiting for Monty or Zipper!_

Group and jump forward and then, still in the air, stretching the hand in the direction of a door knob.

_Search everywhere one more time! Park, toy store, hospital, everything!_

Land on the stairs made of dominoes and grab the knob to avoid falling back.

_I must find them… It must be just some horrible fantasy…_

Swing the door wide open.

_Otherwise they'd better…_

"Wow, Chip, that's quite a service… Thanks…" Dale said in weak voice barely moving his tongue hanging out of his mouth. Half-bent with exhaustion, he moved his legs over the threshold with an obvious effort and went past dumbfounded Chip without looking at him with his sleep-heavy eyes that were going to close at any given moment.

"Hi, Chip…" Gadget greeted him entering next. She looked fresher than Dale but apparently was in the same condition.

"Good evening…" Chip answered in a husky voice and shut the door back. "But— Where— What—"

"GADGET! LUV! DALE! LAD!" Monty shouted rushing into the hall accompanied by Zipper who entered through the kitchen to tell his friends the good news. "Yer're back! Yer're alive! Yer're— what's with ya?! You look like ghosts! What happened?! Have you been attacked?!"

"Nope…" Dale shook his head. Talking wasn't an easy task for him now, and with Monty clasping him to his chest he didn't know how he retained the ability to produce any sounds at all yet.

Gadget answered for them both. "No, Monty, everything's all right, really. It's just that right now I can wish for nothing but to eat ten portions of your cheese soup and sleep for at least a week."

"Sure, my dearest, sure!" Monty put his mighty hands on their shoulders and led them to the kitchen. "The supper is long ready and waiting for you two!"

Dale blanched. "Uhm, Monty, I'm sorry, but in terms of food I'd better pass. Sleeping — yes, that's gonna make it… That'll do…"

"As you say, boy! We'll what's best fo' ya!" Monty assured him and exited the room along with Gadget and Zipper leaving Chip, addled with such a rapid development, standing at the door in complete commotion. His head was splitting up with chaotic mass of thoughts filling it and he sat right there on the steps and covered his face with his hat to get away from it all and analyze the situation from scratch. To be honest, he did it quite wretchedly, because in the end everything turned on two questions: "where have they been?" and "what were they doing?" And while in detective stories one can find loads of possible explanations, only two living beings could provide the exact answers. Gadget and Dale.

_Let's start with them, then._

Having entered the kitchen Chip found there a picture as idyllic as they come. Gadget was eating, hastily and greedily, while Monty sat across the table resting his head on his paws and looking at her with eyes moist with onion or maybe something else.

"Another portion, Gadget?" he asked in a voice so incredibly soft Chip was sure he has never heard before.

"Uhum…" the inventor nodded, and the big mouse got up, brought another plate and sat down so quickly he seemed to have grown younger for a dozen of years and lost at least five drams.

"Ahem-ahem!" Chip cleared his throat to attract at least some attention. "Gadget, I fully understand everything—"

"All the questions — later!" Monty broke him off harshly. This harshness contrasted with his previous tone so strikingly that Chip thought the Aussie yelled at him.

"Nom-nom…" Gadget shook her head. Finished chewing, she added: "It's okay, Monty, I—"

"Need to 'ave a rest!" Monterey Jack said. He put his hand on her shoulder. "Any emergency?"

"Wlachally there's nothing that would demand our immediate attention—"

"Too right, then! So it can easily wait till tomorrow—"

"Till tomorrow?!" Mouse asked with barefaced fear. "No-no, no more 'tomorrows'! I'll tell everything right now—"

"Please, Gadgie, take it easy! Everythin' is okay. You and Dale are at home — that's what's important!" Monty assured her, then turned to Chip. "Doncha see it, Chip? She's on the edge! You mustn't make her nervous! She needs rest!"

"No, I'm perfectly fit, I swe-e-e-a-a-r…" Gadget tried to object, but now, after hearty meal, the sleepiness returned with a vengeance and she yawned mightily in the middle of the sentence. Monty considered it yet another sign of necessity to close this topic until morning. He looked at Chip so pronouncedly as if it was him who tired her out. Chip knew when the battle was lost, so he nodded shortly and went to his room.

_Maybe I'll be able to shake something out of Dale…_ he thought, but today the ill-luck was all his and he found Dale soundly asleep on the upper bulk. Apparently climbing there took his last strength, because he didn't even take off his shirt.

Chip accepted the inevitable. "Till the morning, then…" He changed into his pajamas and a nightcap and lied down. Despite all the troubles of the day, the sleep wasn't coming, and Chip tossed and turned under the blanket, reviewing the logical chain he built over and over.

_Can it be __true?_

"_Or rather, how can it be _not_ true? Everything seems fitting. The song, the note, the secret wedding—"_

_Come on, that's just silly! It's impossible!_

"_What is this? Self-control? Or self-deception?"_

_What deception? __What the heck am I thinking of?_

"_This isn't really the case when ignorance is bliss…"_

_Oh please, I'll find everything out! I'll see Gadget in the morning and ask her about it!_

"_The question is, whether it would be reasonable to trust information from a source like this…"_

_Of course it would! She never lied to me!_

"_To tell the truth, you've never asked her anything like this…"_

Chip hardly got any sleep that night.

* 3 *

_June 16__th_

When Chip woke up, it was 11 o'clock in the morning and he was completely exhausted as if he hadn't slept at all. He couldn't tell when he did manage to calm down more or less and doze at last. But even while sleeping the questions accumulated during the day continued to sound in his head as if being recited aloud by some indescribable chimeras like those on the covers of "Iron Goose" latest album. In short, it was a nightmare. One of those nightmares he hadn't had in a very long time and which made the chest falling from above just another of Dale's innocent pranks by comparison.

_I wonder where he is this time. And where's Gadget?_

For the first time in quite a while immediately after Chip woke up he went not to the bathroom or the kitchen, but upstairs. No one was in the hall. The rattle of working mechanisms could be distinctly heard from the workshop, though. For Chip it sounded more melodiously than all songs by A-Kha taken together.

Gadget was there along with his chance to speak with her.

The only obstacle left was an unbearable noise. It was so loud it should have been heard hundreds of feet if not miles away. But it didn't even wake up Chip owing to the bulged sound absorbing material which covered the walls and the floor not allowing the thunder to escape the room's limits. It didn't make it any quieter inside, though.

"GADGET!" Chip yelled with all his might, but the inventor was too carried away with hitting her hammer against some metal tube to hear him, not to mention a soundproof helmet she was wearing, one of those used during 747 repair operation. Chip knew only one sure method to attract attention of its wearer involving the mountaineering D-rings of which he didn't have any and even if he did he wouldn't use it for obvious reasons. After all, the situation at hand didn't call for such drastic measures, not to mention that Gadget wasn't Dale…

He would probably stand there for quite some time but fortunately for him Gadget finished bending the pipe. She turned around to get another instrument, saw him and immediately switched the noisy machinery off.

_Just like then…_ Chip couldn't help thinking as he stared at the golden waterfall which poured on her shoulders the very moment she took off the helmet. _So much time has passed, but it still seems like it was just yesterday. Or just a moment ago, like now, for example—_

"Good morning, sleepy-head!"

Gadget's frolic salutation brought the chipmunk back to Earth. He collected himself and tried to speak as easy as possible.

"Morning, Gadget! Actually, I woke up quite some time ago— I mean, I just—"

"Forgot to change?" Gadget giggled and Chip suddenly remembered that he was so impatient to go looking for her that didn't change his nightgown for everyday clothes.

"Well, that's just—" Knowing he was disclosed, Chip decided to change the topic. "By the way, where are the others?"

"Went after the Rangermobile."

"Went after… But—" Chipmunk fell silent, only now realizing that he hadn't heard the sound of approaching Rangermobile at night. He paid no attention to it then, being too stunned by his friends' sudden return, but now was wondering what it could mean.

_Where did they leave it? Why? What for?_

Just too many questions.

Time to start getting the answers.

Seeing Chip engrossed in thoughts, Gadget not wanting to waste any time returned to her work, time and again glancing at her friend, ready and waiting to continue the conversation. The chipmunk however interpreted her actions very differently.

_She doesn't want to talk about it… She hints that she's too busy, that I disturb her…_

"Did you want something, Chip?" the mouse asked seeing him turning around and leaving.

Chipmunk swung around. "Yes, I did! I—"

He stopped short. Even now, after her encouraging question, he couldn't ask her his own one despite the words being on the very tip of his tongue. Something didn't let him do it. Something was pressing on him…

The workshop.

Too many of his nerve cells burnt out on its threshold yesterday. His fears didn't come true, but this room full of machines and instruments hanging on the walls still oppressed him. Besides, it was Gadget's home turf, and somehow he felt that here it would be easier for her if not to lie to him then to evade his question on the plausible excuse, or maybe hide her embarrassment under the pretext of the sudden and urgent need to fix something very-very important…

This conversation should be held elsewhere. Speaking in hockey language, he needed to invite her to the neutral ground…

_That's interesting…_ he thought suddenly. _I'm preparing for a talk with her as if for our next battle against Fat Cat. _He didn't have time to feel promptly ashamed by this thought because it quickly got buried under the whole heap of other, more practical ones so to say.

_Where should I talk with her? In the hall? In the kitchen? Or, maybe, even outside…?_

---

"_Oh, Dale, you're so thoughtful! Come on, everyone! We're going on a picnic!"_

---

The bygone episode came up unexpectedly but turned out very handy. The idea was great all by itself, and the perfect weather and him having had no breakfast yet made it even more tempting. His last picnic with Gadget was quite a while ago, and this time they would be alone… Besides, it would be logical to use Dale's idea after him _stealing_ his words during the concert, not to mention that this way their conversation would be perfectly safe from being interrupted by their friends' sudden return…

"Yes, Chip?" Gadget asked, encouraging him to finish his phrase.

"See, Gadget, I— Wait a minute, I'll be back soon!"

Chip ran downstairs and to the kitchen to prepare the picnic basket. On the one hand, it would have been more logical to ask first, and then to start getting ready. But Chip thought that if he asked her with a fully prepared basket in his hands, his offer would sound more serious and grounded. And if she rejects his offer at first, he would have an argument of "oh well, looks like all my preparations were in vain…" at his disposal, which could turn out a decider—

_Paradox. I'm getting ready for a picnic with Gadget and think of anything but the subject—_

"_For a picnic? Or is it rather something from the police practice?"_

_Stop being silly…! Oh boy, how on Earth __did Dale find room in this little basket for all the food he brought along with him that day? It's simply impossible from the geometrical standpoint!_

Having covered tightly packed and tamped sandwiches, berries and a bottle of lemonade with a cloth rolled up into a neat lap, Chip changed into the clothes more suitable for going outside and headed back upstairs. The very procedure of putting on his favorite jacket and fedora together with his very formidable reflection in the mirror made him feel much more confident, so he rushed to the workshop wanting to resolve the issue before this confidence vanished again.

"Gadget!"

"Yes, Chip?"

"You know, I wanted to say― Well, the weather is simply great, and I overslept the breakfast, so― I just wanted to go to the park and sit somewhere, eat something, and I thought, maybe, somehow― Sure I know that you've got a lot of work to do, but still I thought it would be nice if you agreed to bear me a company…"

Gadget brightened. "Golly, Chip, with pleasure! It's a great idea indeed! There are a couple of things I need to finish first, but I'll make it quick, I promise! Give me five minutes, okay? I'll be there in a jiffy!"

Chip waved with his free hand in objection. "Please, Gadget, there's no need for you to rush! We'll go when you finish everything you need! I'll be waiting for you in the hall!"

Chipmunk went downstairs to the middle floor. There he sat down on the sofa and sighed heavily. During the conversation his voice sounded cheerily and casually, but in fact her response made him feel chilled from within. After many years he learnt her habits well and knew for sure that when she was talking about "a couple of things" and "five minutes", you could safely multiply both numbers by ten. And this would be only the lower waiting time bound…

"Sorry for a small delay, Chip. Ready to go?"

Chip didn't expect to hear her voice that soon. He gave a start and shot his glance at the watch on the wall. Only slightly more than six minutes had passed since their conversation. It was a small delay indeed. In fact, it was almost too small to be real.

_That's quite a surprise… _he thought, as he turned to the doors. He was already deeply impressed, but upon seeing her he just froze with his mouth half-open for the answer unspoken. Even in his most daring dreams Chip couldn't imagine her changing for the picnic with him. For instance, for Canina LaFur's show she simply changed her age-old goggles for a flower stuck into her hair. Now she wore summery white T-shirt and pink trousers instead of her jumpsuit. Certainly they paled in comparison with her Sunday dress, not to mention she dressed up like this before. But even in such a simple outfit she looked gorgeous, and the mere fact of her quick coming and a large-scale, as for her, preparations for going out was a sign of…

_Of what?_

"Chip?"

"Oh, yeah, sorry, I just― I didn't think you'd― that you'd come so fast!"

"It was easier than I thought. The alloys those parts are made of turned out so similar that in order to weld them together I didn't have to― Oh, sorry, I digressed again! Where will we go?"

"Maybe― I don't even know, I somehow thought― How about the fountain?"

"Looks good for me! It should be very lively there now!"

"Then, uhm, let's go?"

"Let's go!" Gadget nodded and went to the doors. Chip followed her, the basket hanging on his elbow. He opened the door before Gadget and asked, "Will we walk or― We don't have too many working crafts now, though…"

"Right you are, they still need my attention. But that's even better this way, don't you think?"

Chip smiled. "I do." Gadget took him by his hand and motioned at the doors.

"Lead the way, then!"

They snug at the foot of an old oak tree some twenty feet away from the alley. The place was very convenient. The tree's dense canopy shielded them from the direct sunrays, its thick and wide roots ― from the glances of people passing by, and the moisture brought from the fountain by the wind ― from the heat.

Spreading out the cloth they unpacked the basked meals and had a breakfast, the second one for Gadget and the first one to Chip, exchanging short and meaningless phrases in between. Chip carefully chewed each and every piece, wanting both to feed properly and to stave off the impending conversation. He tried to speak as little as possible, and little by little the leading part became all Gadget's. Unlike Chip, she wasn't hungry, so she just ate two sandwiches and went on talking about the principles of light refraction in tree's canopy and the wind rose which made the place they chose not only cozy but also optimal in terms of the water drop cubature per one square foot of the lawn. Chipmunk just nodded, responding automatically from time to time about how interesting and important all these things were, all the while thinking through the strategy and tactics of approaching the main topic of the day.

_Maybe ask her straight__ away: "Where were you yesterday"?_

_And she'll get surprised and tell __me that they wrote it all in the note. That they were in Moe's shop, and what will it give me? No, I should ask something that wasn't mentioned in the note. Something like "What took you so long?"_

"Wow, Gadget, I didn't know that…"

_Or will it be better not to ask it right away but get to it step by step? Start with something innocent, for example, "Did you get the needed batteries and plungers?"_

_Or I can I ask her some stunning question, __like Sureluck Jones often does. His questions are based on the conclusions he had already made and always catch the unprepared client or even Dr. Blotson off-guard. For example, having concluded that Blotson had shared his cab with a woman, Sureluck Jones won't ask him "You weren't alone in the cab, were you?", but "What was the name of the lady you shared your cab with, Blotson?"_

"Really? Who would have guessed…!"

_No, not like that! At first he asks as if incidentally, "Blotson, what's her name?" And when the doctor shrugs in confusion and says he has no idea what his friend is talking about, the great detective will specify that he meant the lady his friend shared the cab with, and the doctor__, cut to the heart by his old friend's brilliance cannot choose but tell everything right away…_

"Yes, Gadget, that's true…"

_But what are all these complexities and all this melodrama for? __I'm not speaking with some Professor Morbid Arty, after all…_

"Sure― that is, that's incredible!"

_And what if this alone works?_

"Chip."

"Don't worry, I'm listening. Go on, please!"

_No, the subtlety is still a better way. If she has nothing to hide, she'll consider my questions a matter of course. But if I ask her something more blatant and turn out wrong, she'll get offended and won't talk with me ever again__―_

"Chip!"

"No-no, everything's alright! It's very interesting!"

"Chip!"

Feeling Gadget squeezed his shoulder, chipmunk shook up and raised his head from the napkin with the crumbs of a long-eaten sandwich. Gadget was sitting right in front of him, her blue eyes peering closely at his face full of obvious alarm.

"What's with you, Chip?"

"Nothing! You are telling such interesting things that I―"

"Chip, I haven't been saying anything for some ten minutes already."

"What…? Really…? You mean, I―"

"Yes, you kept commenting on my words as though I didn't stop for a second. What's going on, Chip?"

"I dunno, I… Lost in thought, that's all…"

Gadget put another hand on his shoulder and leant almost skin to skin to his face. "Chip, what's wrong? You are beside yourself, I feel it. What happened?"

_She asks me? Pretends there's nothing wrong! How can she—_

_No! No! She's not like that! That's not true…!_

"Chip!" Gadget repeated. She saw Chip retiring back to his shell and shook him up. Chipmunk realized she wouldn't back off until she knew everything, but he knew that the show couldn't last forever and there was no point in delaying the climax anymore. That's why he set the crumpled napkin aside and looked right into her eyes.

"Gadget, where have you been yesterday for so long with Dale?"

Chip wasn't going to phrase this question like this, but it formed exactly this way in the very last moment before he said it out loud, with the emphasis neither on "yesterday" nor on "so long", but on "with Dale". As if he wouldn't have paid any attention to her prolonged absence if she had gone to that shop alone—

Would he…?

"Golly, Chip, so that's the case?" Gadget laughed and relaxed. "Didn't Monty and Dale tell— Oh, sure, they left while you were asleep. You know, that was really funny…"

_Funny?! She finds it funny?!_

_No, stop! Patience, only patience…_

Meanwhile Gadget changed her pose. She sat on the cloth to Chip's right, put her hands on her knees and spoke.

"Remember my yesterday's trip to SCH? On my way back I noticed that the battery charge is coming to an end, which isn't strange after all that flying around on Saturday. So when I got back I wanted to replace them but all the spare ones were gone. Looks like my portable electrolysis chamber turned out not so energy-effective as I wanted, maybe cutting one of the auxiliary circuits was not a bad idea after all— Scratch that! In any case I planned to visit Moe's soon anyway, 'cause there's plenty of equipment needing to be restored, not to mention my plans to build an advanced pulley system which will be the best if built using the LEGO toolkits with all the electromotors inside— Golly, what was I talking about… Oh, yeah! And I asked Dale to help me, so we took the Rangermobile…"

_Why not the Wing?_ Chip wanted to ask but instantly remembered about the batteries and said nothing. Still he caught himself doing involuntary, subconscious analysis of each and every one of Gadget's words trying to find even the slightest inconsistency, the tiniest hint of insincerity, on hiding something…

"—our trip to the shop went absolutely smooth with the exception of Dale's attempt to undress the Super-Hippo figurine. You know, you should have seen that!" Gadget laughed at the memories. "That— that hippo… ha-ha… Well, it was indeed a hippo! And Dale— ha-ha… compared with him… ha-ha-ha… In short, he looked like— like battling— battling with— ha-ha-ha… With one big bed— one big— Oh, I can't stand it… ha-ha… Big bed-sheet during a hurricane… Ha-ha-ha…"

Gadget laughed so hard that the tears appeared on her eyes, but Chip just cracked an awry smile. Usually the sound of her laughter made everything around him brighter and easier, but now he felt just the opposite. Suspicion. Wasn't all this laughing just another of her attempts to wander away from yesterday's events? First she tried to distract him with technical details of new pulley system, now with the wordy retelling of some absolutely irrelevant episode…

_Maybe she just stalls for time, like I did, all the while trying to make up more or less plausible story?_

"—Oh, gosh, I haven't laughed like that in quite a while, you know— Sorry, Chip, but when I remembered it, I just— ha-ha-ha… Ahem! Well… Okay. So, I freed him from the suit somehow, we loaded up the batteries and the plungers and went back. Three blocks back, actually, when Dale came up with the idea to make a little detour and go to the lakes in the north-eastern part of the park. He said that the weather was perfect and there was empty and dull in HQ as the three of you had left for the police station. Then he added that I need to digress from the three months of workshop sitting and the recent hospital routine, and that the walk in the park would be a welcome change. I thought he had a point and agreed—"

_Oh ye__ah, agreed, no doubt of that! I wonder what the stroke was! 'Weather'? Or 'empty HQ'? No, it was 'change' for sure! 'Welcome change'… Just think about it — 'welcome change'…_

"—So we drove there and when we got there I knew that Dale was absolutely right and that I really came to miss the nature. There was almost no wind, and the lakes were still like mirrors. We stopped the Rangermobile in the thick bushes so that no one could see or stomp on it and went for a walk along the coast…"

_So__ that no one could see… And she talks so lightly about it, come think of it! 'Stopped in the bushes', 'walked along the coast'… That's— that's just…_

"We were going to get back to the car when Dale saw her. Enormous toy ship, model of the Queen Mary-2, the ocean liner. She stood in a small bay, careening slightly. Must have come too close to the shore and stuck in the sludgy soil. Dale ran to her headlong, right over the water, and climbed up on board. I shouted him to come back down because I knew that such a big and expensive model couldn't just stand there and her owner could show up at any moment.

"Dale didn't hear me, though. If something gets into his head, you won't be able to pull him away even with a pair of pliers. Not that I have ever tried to pull him away from something with a pair of pliers or with anything for that matter, to begin with— Sorry, where did I stop?"

"When Dale climbed up on the ship."

"Oh, yeah, right! So he climbed on board and called me to join him up there. I insisted that he should have gone down before somebody came, but he just waved my words off and reassured me that everything was under control and we'll have all the time in the world to come down when people came. That was when I heard someone shouting from behind "Here it is! I found it!" It was a boy, I dunno, around six years old and holding some large remote control console. He started clicking the buttons and the ship came to life. Her engines powered up and with a wild jerk she freed herself from the silt while Dale fell backwards and right into the open hatch!

_Contradiction. If the ship is so tall that one has to 'climb up her board' to get there, she couldn't have seen Dale falling into the hatch while standing on the ground…_

"—the boy ran along the coast driving the ship away and I ran after him. I was lucky that the grass and bushes weren't very dense there and that the boy was wearing bright red shirt, otherwise I would have quickly lost the sight of him for sure…"

_Second contradiction. Why run if you have Rangermobile parked nearby?_

"…Soon he reached the site where his parents made a camp. They were preparing to leave already, packing things and cleaning up. The boy didn't want to leave, but obeyed, pulled the ship out of the water and went to their car. I was waiting for Dale to get out on deck and jump down, but the model's hold turned out too deep. I should have seen it right from the start, from the very first look at ship's hull size and displacement evaluation, but hesitated and almost lost them. Only when the kid got into the car did I ran to it and barely managed to jump on the rear bumper. That was close, you know…"

_Too close, I'd say. It would have been much easier to bite the boy's leg. He would have dropped the ship and Dale wouldn't have any problems getting out…_

"…It was a long ride as the family lived in one of remote suburbs. They had a large house with wide lawn and indoor pool in the eastern wing. I didn't saw that then, though, because the car quickly entered the garage. I think it was still moving when the boy got out and ran inside with the ship in his hands. I had to hide from his parents and couldn't follow him closely and got worried of not being able to locate the ship with Dale in such a vast building.

"But then the father called his son and told him to get ready for dinner and I knew that was my chance to get Dale out and leave unnoticed!"

"Why didn't you do it?" Chip asked.

"Wlachally it _should_ have been my chance if the ship wasn't the boy's favorite toy. He didn't want to leave it even for a second. He even put it on the dinner table in front of him, can you imagine? And after dinner he went to the pool and spent the next three hours playing the Atlantic crossing. This actually scared me because, taking into account the pool's size and ship's speed, it would take him almost a year to finish it. To my relief, he wasn't playing _that_ serious so the Atlantic crossing took one lap around the pool, Pacific — three laps and Indian— sorry, I forgot… Scratch that! In short, no matter what he was doing, the ship was always in his sight or hands so I had to wait till the very evening…"

_What for?__ It would have been much more logical to memorize the address and get back to HQ for help. Four of us would have freed him in no time…_

"…Bobby, that was the boy's name, didn't let the ship go even when his mother started putting him to bed. I thought he would even sleep with it in his hands and it scared me quite a bit. Fortunately, his mother took the toy ship away saying that it's too rigid to sleep with and it could fall to the floor and break apart. The final argument proved the most convincing and the ship ended up on the nearby table. I waited for approximately half an hour and when I was sure Bobby was asleep, I left my hiding place behind the plush toys piled in the corner.

"The table was high but it was child's room so I had no problems finding everything needed to build an elevator. I got to the ship's deck, ran up to the hatch and called for Dale. There was no answer and I was frightened if he was hurt. But then I heard his weak voice and lowered him a rope. He took hold of it and shouted— well, not really 'shouted', rather murmured me to lift him up, but I still heard him owing to the ship's cargo hold perfect acoustics. That's the general feature of large-scale ship models as their hull's shape perfectly reflects the sound waves in all directions, especially if reproduced correctly as in this particular model— sorry, scratch that! So he asked me to lift him up as he was unable to use not only the rope but even the stairs. At first I thought he was joking but when I saw him I knew he wasn't exaggerating even a bit. He was— well, imagine Zipper. Dale was trice as green as Zipper is. He told me he had never been so sea-sick and that he wouldn't be able to stand even the sight of a ship, a boat or water in general for at least a month…"

_Poor__-poor Dale, it must have been really unpleasant…_

"…I had to wait for him to catch some breath and led him to the edge of the deck. He stopped me, though, waved his hand about and asked what I thought about it. You know, I got really curious of what he was talking about. And know what he said? 'Don't you see it? The miles of dark sea around us? The boundless starlit sky above our heads?'…"

Chip felt he was close to losing his self-control completely and clenched his teeth not to let out even the slightest sound which could make Gadget aware of his emotions.

_Just think of it… It's incredible! She's plainly telling me about it… This… This is just… Doesn't she understand? Doesn't she understand it?!_

"_Or maybe she understands it all too well? Maybe there's a reason for it?"_

_And what if— what if she's telling me all this _on purpose_?_

"…I laughed and noted that our ship is just a toy standing still on the table in the middle of the human house. And he answered, 'So what? Just believe in it! The movie's 'Titanic' isn't real, too—'"

'_Titanic'? What does this strange movie have to do with it…? Wait… Sure! That scene on the bow—_

"What was next?" Chip asked, his voice dry and hoarse.

"Next? He stood on the deck for a minute, probably imagining him a cruise ship captain, then told me he wanted to go home. We left the house through the window. The alarm was a problem, though, and while I could disable it I didn't want to leave the people inside without protection. So I made sure that the attic window could be half-opened wide enough for two of us to pass, but without triggering the alarm. Not too hard, I must say, just a couple of wires and a spring from the automatic pen which cut the wires when we closed the window thus removing the security breach and eliminating all the trace of our presence. Then we just caught a patrol car passing by, then another one and finally got to the fifth precinct and the HQ. Basically, that's it."

_Just listen to it, 'basically, that's all'… So neat and easy, so perfect… So calm… So… So…_

Chip's thoughts tossed about forming one logical chain after another. But the first conclusion contradicted two facts, the second — three, the third — just one, but important. Nevertheless, little by little the chains grew longer, the seemingly contradictory facts turned out being cause and effect, and the overall picture grew more and more vivid.

It's a plot.

_No, it isn't! It can't be! Why am I winding myself up? Why? What for?!_

Chip was already yelling at himself, trying hard to muffle the voices from nowhere. But he couldn't. They spoke in soft and insinuating whisper which easily penetrated just about any noise screen, repeating over and over, "Don't be naive! Don't you see it? Don't you understand?"

_What? What must I see? What must I understand?_

"_Start from the very beginning! Look it through! The entire chain!"_

_I did it, I did it! I've done it hundred times already! It's insane, it's just—_

THAT'S IT!

The chain locked. The last link cracked in its place. Now he knew everything the detective should know.

The means and the motive.

"That's her and Dale's plan. They concluded that I prevent them from being together and decided to get rid of me. But after all these years they know that I'm too serious opponent to try to beat me in the open, so they went with another, much more intricate solution, perhaps the most sinister one in the world. They decided to drive me mad. It corresponds with Dale's style perfectly. Obviously, he didn't forget my Rama-Lama-Ding-Dong prank on him, not to mention that this is exactly how he defeated Su-Lin. And that's how he decided to defeat me…"

That's what all of it was for! All the words and deeds had one purpose!

First — the concert.

---

"And I liked it very much! Especially the 'I've been waiting long for one of us to say…' portion!"

"Yes, it was nice!"

---

Then Headquarters…

---

"Okay, go if you wish! If you need me, I'll be listening to my music!"

---

They left note as a distraction, stayed somewhere till the middle of the night and suddenly appeared as soon as he reached his limits—

_But how did they know when he reached his limits if they were in—_

BUT THEY WEREN'T THERE!

They didn't go to the shop. Most probably they were somewhere nearby, looking inside through the hall windows to know exactly when his nerves would be strained enough. Then they appeared as if from nowhere to shock him once more, bringing him another one step closer to the wide-opened maw of madness.

That's why he didn't hear the sound of coming Rangermobile. It wasn't coming. Not because they left it somewhere among the thick bushes near the lakes, though, but because it was in the garage all this time. They calculated everything very precisely. They knew that after reading the note neither he nor Monty nor Zipper would think of going down to the garage to check the car's presence. Or, for that matter, its absence.

Such craftiness…

_Okay, suppose it was like that. How would they have explained __the lack of batteries and plungers?_

"_Quite simple! They could tell, for example, that they hadn't found any suitable ones and returned empty-handed—"_

_From the toy shop choke full of this kind of stuff? No, it would be too incredible…_

---

"…Three blocks back, actually, when Dale came up with the idea to make a little detour and go to the lakes in the north-eastern part of the park. He said that the weather was perfect and there was empty and dull in HQ as the three of you had left for the police station…"

---

_Sure! They went to the __shop; got everything they needed and came back to HQ before we returned from the precinct! They parked the Rangermobile in the garage and hid somewhere in the tree's canopy where there's so many secluded nooks—_

_No, wait, it can't be! Then Monty would have found it when he went down to the garage to check the cars before we left to search for them—_

_That's it! Search! They returned when __we left to look for them! And when we got back we were too preoccupied with tragic feelings to even think of going to the garage! That's how they did it! And when they saw me reaching the needed condition, they left their hideout and revealed themselves to Zipper flying by, who, quite naturally, thought to have simply missed them in the darkness…_

_And all this masterfully pretended tiredness and complete inability to tell anything?_

---

"Uhm, Monty, I'm sorry, but in terms of food I'd better pass. Sleeping — yes, that's gonna make it… That'll do…"

---

_Stop, waitasecond! But today Monty, Zipper and Dale went to bring the Rangermobile back—_

"_And how do you__ know it?"_

_I was told by— by Gadget!_

"_And why did she tell you this?"_

_Because this was the most natural explanation of their absence!_

In reality they left for a different reason. Monty and Zipper would never uncover the trick with Rangermobile, and they had no problems coming up with another plausible excuse for them, maybe getting some other parts or something like that… Right! And they must have taken the Rangermobile in case he would decide to go down to the garage in the morning for some reason. The probability of this was close to zero, but they wouldn't have risked it. They knew he's too dangerous a foe to mess something up.

Not to mention there was another reason to remove the others from the scene.

_Their absence was essential for the final stage of their plan, for the final blow — the tale of their yesterday's adventures. The tale so extremely detailed, with exact, almost word-for-word account of all the episodes and conversations, that I would have no choice but to go crazy because of __jealousy. This is my weakest spot, and Dale knows it better than anyone else in the world._

Now Chip understood the cause of all the inconsistencies in Gadget's behavior. Come to think of it — he packed the picnic basket with his own hands and offered to go out somewhere, to the 'neutral ground'. Yeah, 'the neutral ground'… No wonder Gadget accepted his offer right away! She just couldn't decline it as she was probably going to propose something similar. This way Monty's and Zipper's sudden return wouldn't ruin their plan as they could rebut the whole 'Rangermobile left somewhere' setting. That's why it took her only six minutes to get ready. She knew time was of the essence. Not only because Monty and Zipper could have returned, but also he could suddenly change his mind—

She even dressed herself up to make sure he wouldn't.

_I wonder how much time it took them to plan all this through? Quite a while, it seems. You don't devise something like this in one day. That's a matter of week, not to say month—_

That's it! A month! For almost a month Gadget locked herself up in the workshop acting like she was totally busy and interested in nothing but her blueprints and parts, and that she lost all the touch with the outside world.

But did she?

_The hospital._

This is it, the last piece.

How did she know about Small Central Hospital opened during her 'uninterrupted' sitting in the workshop? They never mentioned it in her presence. They spoke about it for a couple of times, but Gadget wasn't there to hear it. And yesterday she simply packed up all the parts and instruments and said she's going to SCH. And she went there as though it was just another routine thing to do…

_Maybe she saw it in her prophetic dream__…?_

"_And what if it's another part of their plan?!"_

---

"_You know, doctor, our dear friend, Chip, has got a mental breakdown. Our work is hard and dangerous, you see, and we think he developed some kind of persecution mania. We think he needs some help—"_

---

"Chip, are you alright?"

The sound of Gadget's voice made Chip's conscience converge into a single dense clot similar to supernova's core right before its blast which was soon to come. Very soon. His mind still had some margin of safety, but the chipmunk knew it wouldn't hold too long. Maybe it will be there for a couple more minutes. Or maybe he had time to say just two or three words.

But he needed to know. To get the answer now, while he was still there. To ask the decisive question. It remained only to choose one.

What should he ask?

"How can it be?"

No, too obscure…

"What have I done to deserve it?"

Warmer, but still not enough…

"What is this for?"

No, he knows that already…

"Why?"

Why is it so? Why not me? Why Dale? Why you? Why this way? Why now?

Looks good. Short but significant. One question for all the answers.

"Why, Gadget?" he asked quietly, not even looking at her.

"What 'why', Chip?"

"Why— why is— why is this? Why are you doing all this?"

"Wmidunno, Chip. You asked me to." Gadget answered, thinking that he was referring to her tale.

_That's just it,_ Chip thought._ For her it's that simple…_

And the supernova blast occurred.

But not the way Chip predicted. His deserted mind with the aforementioned clot of tightly compressed thoughts hanging in the center didn't explode like a soap bubble dooming him to wander the dim lands of insanity forever. Quite the contrary, it began to get filled again as the clot started to unwind like a released spring. All the facts and logical chains he constructed flew out of it like confetti and covered the canvas of his mind with entirely different picture. Very harmonious and logical. And very, almost obscenely simple.

Chip turned his head and looked at Gadget. She was watching him closely, and in her eyes, blue like a summer sky above their heads, the chipmunk saw everything. Kindness, tenderness, care, surprise and anxiety concerning his strange question. And not a tiny hint of hypocrisy he tried to catch yesterday and now. But didn't. Because it wasn't there and couldn't be there in the first place.

Because everything she told him now was the truth from the beginning to the very end.

And this revelation made Chip glad and horrified in the same time. Glad — because it meant that everything was indeed alright. That his comrades turned out to be those he had always considered them to be — faithful and sincere friends ready to come to his help and offer their support in the hour of need. Horrified — because in a fit of unprovoked jealousy from the scratch, from just one verse of a song he heard during the concert and a bunch of totally fictional detective stories, he built a whole conspiracy theory and made them guilty of all deadly sins out there…

---

_Search everywhere one more time! Park, toy store, hospital, everything! I must find them… It must be just some horrible fantasy… Otherwise they'd better…_

---

The thought he developed while leaping from the armchair to the main door but didn't have time to finish. In a logic, and that's why even more horrible way.

"—_not to come back at all!"_

Chip started shaking. He turned away and screwed up his eyes, covering them with his fist to make sure he wasn't seeing Gadget. After all he had imagined about her in the last two days he considered himself unworthy of even looking at her.

"Chip! Golly, Chip! What's with you?! What happened?!" Gadget exclaimed in terror. She tried to grab him by his hands but he kept breaking loose trying to crawl away as far from her as possible in order not to desecrate the place she was in. He fought hard, and mouse had to use all her strength to hold him next to her.

"Please, Chip, what happened?! Chip! Say something! Please! Calm down! Please!"

"For— Forg— Forgive me…"

"Gosh, Chip, what are you talking about?!"

Despite Chip's resistance Gadget managed to make him face her. She took him by his palms pressed tightly to his face and slowly, by millimeters, lowered them and revealed his eyes. Chipmunk industriously evaded her glance but mouse kept trying and finally made him look at her.

"Please, Chip, tell me what happened! It's because of me? I did something wrong? I'm sorry, I— I thought it was…"

"No, Gadget, it's not your fault. It's— it's me. I— Forgive me, please…"

"For what, Chip?"

"For—"

_Yes, for what? For candidly wishing you and Dale to vanish without a trace?_

"For— for all. For everything. I— I just—"

"Please, Chip, calm down. Everything's fine." Gadget moved closer to him and put her head on his shoulder. "I have nothing to forgive you for."

_Oh, Gadget, if only you knew—_

Chip froze and, without turning his head, looked at the mouse nestled up to him. Her eyes were closed and her little nose almost touched the fur on his neck which moved slightly from her quiet breathing. She put her right hand around his shoulders while the fingers of her left one brushed against his tightly clenched fists.

_What if she knows? Like with that airliner?_

But if she knew it, would she be sitting near him like this? Would her relaxed posture be so full of trust and confidence she was radiating now?

_What if it's because she knows much more than that? Because she knows the true reason for my thoughts and deeds, all these passions and worries?_

It's quite possible. After all, the one who reads the future like an open book and masters both time and space (or else how would she have predicted the positions of all the warehouse workers in every particular moment of time?) has no problems knowing what he holds in the innermost corners of his heart and soul.

_Yes, that should account for it…_

He watched her with a corner of his eye, trying not to move in fear of disturbing her. Right now she was closer to him than ever before, but still infinitely distant…

Suddenly a thought occurred to him. _What is she doing here in the first place?_ She, whose IQ outshines an average scientific institution, whose skill and diligence — a factory, bravery and selflessness — an army? She could become anyone she wanted. Prominent scientist, engineering genius, even a president if they could elect a field mouse! There is nothing impossible for her, and on Saturday, sitting on the Ice-Dome's crowded stands he knew it without a doubt. At that moment she looked like an angel descended from heavens for him…

But what about yesterday or this morning?

_I should probably quit reading detectives!_ Chip said to himself feeling the rage boiling up inside him. He was angry at himself for everything he dared to think about Dale, his old friend who went through fire and water alongside him, and about Gadget, the perfect being with her own unique demerits which didn't prevent her from being an ideal. His unreachable ideal. Though there were times when it seemed enough to just extend your hand and—

Chip didn't noticed when his hand started moving, and realized it only after his paw touched Gadget's face. The very next moment the mouse raised her left hand and covered his fingers with her own. Chipmunk chilled inside, thinking that he unknowingly stepped over the borders of decency and now she would throw his paw away. But Gadget pushed it even harder instead, pressing it to her cheek even tighter and not allowing Chip to take it away.

In that particular moment, immediately after her gesture and touch, something like huge warm wave ran through Chip's body, cleansing and refreshing his thoughts and feelings. Or rather bringing with it some new, so far unknown sensations and making him to look at the familiar things from the different angle.

She is so close, and yet so distant…

In truth, it wasn't like that. It was quite the opposite. And although Gadget would certainly say that the rearrangement of items doesn't change the sum, it was different matter now.

She's so distant, and yet so close.

Just like that, and in no way differently.

Gadget could indeed become anyone with ease, master any field of science and technology and reach the heights of career unseen for field mice. And any given mouse guy in the world would consider it an honor and life's fortune to marry her. Take Sparky, for example…

_---_

The afternoon leisure of Rescue Rangers was interrupted by polite triple knock at the HQ door. Gadget was the closest to the door and opened. There was a tall blonde rat with pug nose wearing a lab coat and a guinea pig sporting red shirt and head-band similar to those worn by sportsmen to protect the eyes from the sweat standing on the threshold. Each of them carried a roomy handbag.

"Sparky! Buzz!" Gadget exclaimed, delighted to see the duo the Rangers rescued from the hands of Norton Nimnul, who literally made them the humble puppets in his next criminal combination.

"I caught up with 'im after the alarm clock wound down," Sparky grinned, motioning at Buzz who was last seen running away in the body of a giant pig robot, chasing the ringing alarm clock in Nimnul's pocket.

"We just stopped to say goodbye," Buzz explained.

"Buzz and I signed up for a new science lab at MIT," his friend and colleague added.

"Great! When do you leave?" Dale exclaimed enthusiastically, popping from behind the corner. He and Chip sneaked up to the door unnoticed, unable to miss the conversation between the mouse they adored and their most dangerous competitor in the fight for her love ever. Except one another, that is. Chip bonked his friend on the head, punishing his intemperance, but it was too late. Gadget got angry with them, and Sparky grew sad and continued in a cheerless voice.

"Oh, that's okay, I... can understand if you don't like me. In fact, I was wondering why you two didn't run off and leave me at the bank…"

"Well, we were a little jealous at first," Chip admitted, rubbing the back of his head, then added, nervously scuffing the ground with his foot, "but we understand if Gadget likes you better than us—"

Gadget smiled and looked at the chipmunks.

"Golly, don't be silly! No one could ever replace YOU!"

---

At that time these words she said quickly faded away in the light of another heated quarrel between him and Dale, after which they were so exhausted they could vaguely remember what it started with. Now Chip was finally able to grasp their meaning and appreciate their true value.

Chipmunk carefully embraced the mouse with his left hand and she stirred somewhat, moving even closer to him and adjusting her posture to a slightly changed shape of his shoulder. This short movement made Chip experience so many different feelings at the same time that even the total vocabulary of all the books in the Library of Congress wasn't enough to describe this diversity of sensations and emotions which taken as a whole comprised a great and strange thing, usually called happiness.

So distant, and yet so close, despite all the intellectual and interspecies differences. She was here, right beside him, giving him her warmth, tenderness and care.

Yes, that's what it was. Care.

Gadget described everything with such amount of details not to finish him off and deprive him of the remains of his sanity. In truth she was saving him from himself and his own unbridled and jealous imagination.

Last Saturday she gave him and friends the complete set of instructions to locate the needed parts which left no place to errors or fortuities. Now she told him everything leaving no place for fantasies or guesswork which would have surely driven him insane. At first glance she behaved cruelly, offensively, but in truth it was kindness and care of the highest standard. For if she was guided by the best intentions and held something back, he would have immediately sensed it and imagined heaven only knows what…

But he imagined it nevertheless.

Weren't Chip afraid to shatter Gadget's peace and quiet he would certainly be rolling about the lawn, laughing hysterically at his own preposterous insinuations. All these suspicions, calculations and attempts to penetrate the thick covers of mystery and reach the meaning hidden in the very depth were useless and unneeded from the start as everything was in sight, clear and obvious. But not for him seeing the world through the black glasses of jealousy.

And why?

Was it because Gadget constantly watched Dale jumping on the railing edge? But he himself was doing quite the same, anxious and ready to run up to his help at any given moment.

Was it because Gadget agreed to go to the lakes with Dale and have a walk on the shore? So what? He also liked such joint strides if the weather was favorable. Not to mention that he would have been really sick for them after having been locked up in the Headquarters for a whole month.

Now Chip really couldn't believe he had carefully listened to each and every Gadget's word searching for any inconsistencies. And, what's even more incredible, he DID found them! And once again he was finding them where there weren't and couldn't have been any.

_If the ship is so tall that one has to 'climb up her board' to get there, she couldn't have seen Dale falling into the hatch while standing on the ground…_

Maybe. But she could hear the sound of the falling or, what's more likely, to see the hatch later, while vigilantly watching Bobby. Then again, if she didn't saw him on the deck and later had to get him out of the hatch, the conclusion about his falling suggests itself immediately. Simply because there are no other options left.

_Why run if you have Rangermobile parked nearby?_

First, because by the time he went and came back, the boy could have ran away too far away to find him. Second, it's the most natural reaction. Finally, it's much more convenient to follow the car driving through the busy streets while sitting on its bumper.

_It would have been much easier to bite the boy's leg. He would have dropped the ship and Dale wouldn't have any problems getting out…_

But would he himself do it like that? No, he wouldn't. Falling down on the ground inside such a heavy but still very fragile model ship could hurt Dale badly. Not to mention that the loss of a favorite toy could become a real tragedy for Bobby. He surely must have been dreaming about it for a long time. What if it was a Christmas gift or birthday present? What if this shock would leave an imprint on his entire life? What if while commanding this ship he imagines himself a sea captain and wants to throw in his lot with the sea, and the loss of it would have crossed out all his daring dreams? The proactive measures could have been very effective, but would they have been right? Would they have corresponded to the Rescue Rangers' credo?

No, they wouldn't…

_What for? It would have been much more logical to memorize the address and get back to HQ for help. Four of us would have freed him in no time…_

Again, would he have done it this way? Would he have left Dale to the mercy of fate? No, he wouldn't. He would have stayed in the house, watching closely after the ship waiting for an opportunity to rescue Dale, constantly ready to undertake more drastic measures if his friend's life was in danger. For example, if Bobby decides to check if his favorite ocean liner will make a good submarine. Or if he wants to reproduce the sinking of 'Titanic'…

By the way, about 'Titanic'.

Chipmunk abruptly turned to Gadget but slightly miscalculated the distance between them and their noses collided. The mouse winced and opened her eyes to see what it was and smiled, seeing Chip's bright face and his big black eyes with an obvious hint of playfulness in the depth.

"What, Chip?"

"Gadget, do you think Bobby is in the park with his ship now?"

"Wmidunno… Though, considering it's great at the lakes now, he likes to play with it very much and yesterday he kept asking his parents about returning here today for a good half of the evening, I'd say the chances are big—" Gadget fell silent for a moment, then giggled. "Don't you mean—"

"Everything's possible…" Chip said with significance. "I just thought, what if he became so enthusiastic as to lose his ship again? And we found it…"

"…and I would have to get _you_ out of the hatch?"

"You _would_ rescue me if I fell down into it, wouldn't you?"

"Certainly! We're Rescue Rangers, after all!"

"But I assure you, I'm not going to fall anywhere but plan not to go beyond flying above the waves."

Gadget raised her eyebrow. "Flying above the waves? How do you imagine it?"

"Something like this… We go to the ship's bow, to the very tip of it. You climb over the bulwark, look forward, spread your hands and…"

"It's high there, you know."

"I won't let you fall down. Do you believe me?"

Gadget laughed. "Well, if you say so, then I surely do!"

"Shall we go, then?"

The mouse didn't have time to answer as a strange sound came from above, very strange and very unexpected.

"Is it what I think it is?" Chip asked, watching the skies.

"If you think of a thunder burst, then yes."

"But if it's indeed a thunder, then—"

"—we got to go!"

The two of them quickly threw all the wrappers, napkins and the cloth and headed in the HQ direction, but they made only a couple of steps when the real summer downpour started. Such a rare occasion it was for the city that it caught off-guard not only Rescue Rangers but all the people in the park as well. Everybody grabbed everything and ran away, either home or to the nearby trees, hoping to wait through the foul weather under the cover of thick leafage.

"Golly, Chip, this is so amazing!" Gadget exclaimed, watching the sunlight playing on the dense squirts of the falling water.

"You'll catch a cold, Gadget! Here, take it!" Chip threw his jacket upon her shoulders and took her by her elbow, motioning along. "Let's run before everything is flooded!"

"Chip, it's not necessary! You'll get wet!"

"Never mind! My fur is thick enough so I'll be alright! Put it on!"

"Well, if you say so… Thanks!" Gadget answered, putting her hands into the sleeves and zipping up on the run. They ran at all their might, expecting to get home before the water blocked all the paths. But upon reaching the curb they saw it was too late, as the fast and broad stream was running along the side of the alley.

"We can't walk around it," the inventor observed, looking around.

"Do you think it's deep?" Chip asked, thoughtfully rubbing his chin.

"Well, considering the paving curvature radius and the curb height, I'd say it's about knee-deep to you."

"Hold on then!"

"I don't— Ouch!" Gadget almost dropped the basket in surprise when Chip took her in his arms, but quickly found her bearings, shoved her right hand under basket's handles and embraced the chipmunk by his neck. As soon as Chip was sure she's holding tight, he jumped off the curb with a huge splash and ran forward, tossing the water away with his legs and secretly wishing the stream to be endless—

"Chip!"

"Yes?"

"You are running in circles!"

"Really?" Chip stopped and looked around, finding himself still standing knee-deep in the water almost at the same place from where he started his run several minutes ago. "Hmm, indeed. I don't even know how it—"

"Oh, come on!" Gadget laughed and patted his cheek. "Know what? This game is better played by two!"

"What do you mean?"

"You'll see. Let me down."

"But we're knee-deep in the water!"

"If you mean that I'll get wet then I assure you that after your running it's already too late to worry about that!"

"Well, if you say so…"

Chip carefully put her down on the ground, that is, on the water. Gadget shook off the water drops densely covering the jacket and put the basket right down into the pool.

"Won't the water carry it off?" chipmunk inquired anxiously when the basket started moving with the flow.

"It shouldn't. But even if it does, so what? We'll make another one!"

"Yes, and a larger one, because—" Chip didn't have time to present all the advantages of a larger basket because Gadget pushed him and he fell into the water. "OUCH!"

"Catch me if you can!" Gadget shouted to the floundering chipmunk and ran upstream. Chip finally got the better of water pressure, stood up and darted after her. He was faster and almost caught her but then mouse swung around so abruptly it took Chip aback and he slid on the water for at least half a feet before realizing that it's time to go around.

"Watch your turns, Chip!"

_I won't catch her this way!_ Chipmunk thought, rubbing the water drops off his face with his elbow. _Let's try another approach…_

He sprang off his feet and chased Gadget, literally ramming through the water column and leaving in the murky stains behind all those phantoms he made up and which almost killed their own creator. Now the events of the last two days looked like some prolonged nightmare, temporary insanity. Still, if you think it all over, you'll know that such was indeed the case. And considering that the reason put to sleep by jealousy can produce even worse monsters, it was clear that he got off very lightly…

Running far enough away, Gadget turned around and watched the approaching chipmunk closely. Having evaluated his speed and made the water density and flow speed corrections, she half-stepped back and dug her heels in the ground, ready for a headlong jump to the right. Chip running at full pelt didn't see it but he knew that Gadget posture only looked spontaneous and that she calculated everything for two or three moves ahead. Still, he wasn't a simple mind either…

When he was just several inches away from Gadget, Chip leaped forward, his hands broadly outstretched to catch her for sure. But mouse's speed of reaction was phenomenal. Or rather, it was because of water resistance due to which Chip's jump turned out not really as agile as he wanted. In any case, he flew past Gadget, collided with the water with a huge splash and slid on his right side for about a foot more. Then he fell on his back and lay still, his body fully submerged except knees and muzzle.

"Get up, Chip! You'll chill!" Gadget called, but chipmunk didn't move. Only his fur swayed slowly, moved by rushing waters.

"Chip!" Gadget raised her voice. "Chip!"

No reaction.

The thoughts started flashing in Gadget's mind. _Golly, what's with him? Could he hit something? Landed badly? Got water-choked?_

_I wonder how long will it take her to take the __bait._ Chip wondered, watching Gadget from under the half-closed eyelids. _I won't hold much longer. It's good the water is fine, but the bottom is just too rough— Oh, at last!_

"Ohmigosh, Chip! Are you alright?! Are you injured?!" Gadget screamed as she ran up to him and lifted his head above the water. "Chip! Please, Chip! Say some—"

"BOOO!" Chip shouted, sitting up abruptly and grabbing her hands. Gadget gave a start but quickly recovered.

"So you were pretending?!" she asked crossly. "That was darn foul on your part! Do you know how scared I was?!"

"I am sorry, ma'am!" Chip bowed politely and lifted his hat a bit, causing all the water accumulated beneath it to pour down on his face.

"Golly, Chip, you are so funny!" Gadget giggled looking at him, striped with runs of murky liquid. She wanted to rub the water off his cheeks, but suddenly found her hands tightly clamped in his paws. She tried to free herself, but he wasn't going to let her go.

"Hey, Chip, what does it— Oh, so that's what it all was for, isn't it?! You dirty trickster!"

"I got you!" Chip smiled broadly. "Now break free if you can!"

"Let me go!"

"I won't!"

"Let me go, or else…"

"Or else what?"

"Or else… Or else I'll splash the water on you!"

"How?"

"How? Hmm, that's a good question…" Gadget attempted to break loose from his grip again, but the conversation didn't lull Chip's attention even for a second and his grip was as firm as before. Then Gadget bent down to the water and tried to dip it with her nose, but it was no good either. Chip laughed.

"Oh, great! Now you are even dirtier than me!"

"Let me rub my face at least."

"No, this trick won't work!"

"Oh, Chip, please! It tickles my nose now!"

"You can rub it off mine!" Chip bent forward but Gadget dodged his muzzle with a smile.

"We're cunning, aren't we? No way!"

"Then give up, 'cause I am not going to let you go!"

"I warn you for the last time! You'll regret this!"

"Come on, surprise me!"

"You think I can't?"

"Nope!"

"You think you anticipated everything?"

"I'm certain!"

"Then here you go!"

Gadget's face and hands didn't move, so at first Chip didn't realized what she was talking about. But then he caught some movement with a corner of his eye, looked there and knew what her plan is. But it was too late. Gadget rolled the tip of her tail up, scooped some water and through it right into Chip's face. Chipmunk instinctively covered his eyes from the incoming water and Gadget instantly broke away from him and jumped aside.

"Hey! That's unfair!" insulted chipmunk protested, snorting the water off.

"Yeah, the pot calling the kettle black!" Gadget answered and started running away again. "Don't sit, or you'll freeze! Come on!"

"Okay, you asked for it!"

Jumping back on his four, Chip ran after her and for a long while they were rushing across the stream chasing and splashing each other, laughing merrily. The park grew deserted, and only once in a while someone ran along its alleys, heading for the nearest bus stop or nearby shops to find some cover. The chipmunk and the field mouse frolicking in the pond paid no attention to them or the weather, though. They both drenched to the skin, but they didn't feel cold. And not only because the summer rain was warm or the running heated them up. It all contributed its mite, certainly, but that alone wouldn't have been enough. There was something else, a completely different feeling, a sensation of something elevated and beautiful, warming them both up from the inside.

* 4 *

Chip understood and felt many things that day. But the most important lesson he got was the realization of how really lucky he was to have met such great fellow travelers on his life's road, a faithful friend and a living wonder, Dale and Gadget. It also dawned on him how easily it was to ruin your world and your happiness with your own hands, losing everything. And although Chip still felt cold stings of jealousy when Dale was more successful in their struggle for beautiful inventor's attention, he knew he would never come as close to the edge of the abyss as on that warm day in the middle of June. Because he had been there, knew where this abyss was and, more importantly, what lurks on its bottom.

He also realized that everything was much more complex than he thought earlier. More complex, but at the same time simpler. You should only remember that everything has its price, and everybody pays it, but only as long as he is willing to do it. Every Rescue Ranger was paying his price to be together. Gadget was paying it, too, as she couldn't not know about the perspectives opened before her. But still preferred being here than with the other rodent scientists and engineers. The latter were scarce and preferred the company of other scientists and engineers, because communication with those capable of understanding and evaluating your most revolutionary and abstract ideas is always more pleasant and productive. But not for Gadget, who, while being smarter than many of them, preferred her HQ workshop to the laboratories full of the latest equipment. Because she knew she was needed right here, on the cutting edge of the battle against crime, fought by the Rescue Rangers for many years already.

But everything could change.

Gadget could become keen on some totally fantastic project, the work on which would demand her leaving the team and moving to some more suitable place. MIT, for instance…

She could lose her interest in Rescue Ranger routine. Sometimes it occurred even to Chip himself that they had made everything they could and it was time for them to step down. Professor Nimnul rested on his oars. Capone hadn't been seen for quite a while already and was rumored to have moved to Chicago or even further, to New York. Fat Cat remained, but as of late even he was spending most of the time in his Casino, slowly restoring his financial position shaken after a number of his projects failed for _some_ reasons. Minor criminals were more eager to move to other cities than put up a fight against the brave five. Not all of them, certainly, and Rescue Rangers always had work to do, but its scale and, if you can say so, interestingness couldn't be compared with their early cases. Maybe it was due to the fact they got more experienced and with the experience came the clear understanding of what to do in the majority of the situations. Maybe because the police didn't have to waste time and efforts investigating the cases unexplainable form humans' point of view. Or maybe — because they were getting tired…

Finally, Gadget could meet her true love. Some good and clever guy, the worthy representative of her species she will be happy married with. Who will be able, without any hesitations or fears to break the unwritten but no less severe laws of their society, to tell her those three magic words Chip wanted to tell her all this time but wasn't able to. And now he didn't know whether he ever would be, even to try to hold her by his side. Because if this was her choice, he wouldn't be able to hold her no matter how hard he would try, just like he wasn't able to hold her then, in the park during the rain. But then again, did he have any right to hold her in the first place, after everything she had done to him and the role she's been playing in his life all this time? Chip didn't know, but he knew exactly that she, like nobody else in this world, deserved much more…

As of now, though, she was here, by his side, and Chip was eternally grateful for her for this and infinitely happy as he knew the real price for this gift of fate and realized just how big fortune fell to his lot. He didn't know how long it would be there so he tried not to waste any second of the time he was given.

Especially since Gadget also seemed to change. Now she spent much more time together with him and Dale, answering the offers to go out somewhere without hesitation and often coming up with her own variants to spend the common leisure. She gratefully accepted their gifts, no matter how small they were, and even assigned a separate shelf in her room for them, not even thinking to use them as some spare parts. Chip didn't know the cause of these changes, but he liked them very much and readily agreed to help her about the Headquarters or the workshop, appreciating each and every moment spent by her side.

He still felt uneasy in the workshop, though, but not because of that June episode. It simply turned out that Dale copes with technical tasks better than him, proving again and again that the spy equipment he built earlier was not a random stroke of luck but a valid success of which he constantly reminded Chip.

One of these reminders almost ruined everything…

The heat was unbearable even by August standards that day, and sweat flowed from Chip's face in heavy and viscid streams like some molten metal. There was no sign of wind, and the little window didn't bring any coolness. A small artificial draft would help, but Chip didn't just shut the workshop door but blocked it with a plank so that no one could enter and spoil everything.

"Faster, faster!" he hurried himself up. At first glance there were no reasons for it. Dale went to their room after dinner with a plate of frozen acorns and a six-pack of new comic books which meant he wouldn't show up until supper. But Chip knew his friend's habit of appearing from nowhere in the worst moment possible and shook at the faintest sound, ready to hide everything under the workbench and pretend he was just cleaning the instruments.

"Ready…" he thought captiously observing his creation. "No, not yet, these bolts must be screwed tighter… No it's ready!"

He had worked with this project for more than a month. Worked secretly, at nights, making the noisiest part of work in the garage, and now the model of the Hubble Space Telescope was finished at last. He knew Gadget would like it and finally see that the telescopic fishing rod wasn't the acme of his technical abilities! This time he would outclass Dale for sure!

Chip put all instruments back and threw the litter into the bin. Making sure Gadget's workplace was in perfect order again, he exited the workshop and headed to the opposite end of the corridor where her room was located. When he reached the stairway into the living room he stopped and listened but heard nothing and perked up. Today Dale won't interrupt him!

He quickened his pace, and when the cherished door appeared in sight he ran headlong. If only she were there now…

Chip knocked and heard her voice, gentle and melodic. She was there, behind the door, and was inviting him to come in. It remained only to set his hat straight, hide the model behind his back, turn the handle, and―

"Come in, Chip!" Gadget urged the chipmunk standing in the doorframe in unnatural pose. "Great, isn't it?"

Chip answered nothing, losing his speech at the sight of a huge model standing on the table in the corner. A huge cargo plane with four turbojet engines and twelve gear posts in total, two forward ones and five under each wing. Judging by the size of cabin glazing and the illuminators the real plane was larger than 747.

"What's this?" he asked hoarsely.

"Condor!" Dale proudly explained. He was standing in the opposite corner of the room and Chip didn't notice him. "One of the largest cargo plane in the world! It was even featured in Dirk Suave movie!"

"Gadget, it's fantastic!" Chip said. "Such precision! Fascinating!"

"Dale built it!" she explained and pressed one of the flaps with her finger making it move down. "They are moving! All of them! Flaps, rudder and even gears!"

"NO!"

At that moment Chip thought the tree was falling. He froze, unable to believe in what he was seeing. Many times he imagined himself entering her room to present her the model of the orbital telescope he made specially for her. She told him so much about it during their night vigils in the observatory that the photos and blueprints copied from the reference books weren't really needed. But he used to do everything right so he acquired them to be absolutely sure he made everything right to the last bit of inch…

But all of it seemed a waste of time now.

"DALE?!" Chip asked again, turning from his grinning friend to the plane and back. "Dale did it? Flaps, rudder and gears ― he did it?"

"And that's not all!" Dale announced. He came up to the model and blew into its engines making their fans rotate and finishing Chip for good. He knew it was the end and he would never make anything like this in a month, in a year or in his whole life…

"Nice, huh?"

"Not bad…" Chip muttered. He turned around slowly and stepped into the corridor, determined to throw his model from the nearest window. No, from the highest branch of their tree, and even that would be too low for this primitive thing which was nothing more but a bush-league stuff compared to Dale's plane with moving flaps, rotating fans and each separate sheet of plating could be seen on the foil glued over the hull…

"Chip, what's that?"

When chipmunk realized Gadget was referring to his model he kept behind his back and now accidentally revealed, he stopped and blushed.

"This…" he said quickly moving his hand under his jacket. "It's nothing. Don't pay attention!"

"May I look?" Gadget asked approaching him and extending her paw to the telltale bulge on his jacket. "Please!"

Chip looked away. "Gadget, it's just… You won't like it!"

"Why are you so sure?"

"Well, I, erhm… Sorry, I got to go, I…"

Gadget stepped closer. "Please, Chip! I really want to see it! Show it, please!"

Chipmunk hesitated but after looking into her eyes he knew the resistance was futile and meaningless. "If you ask…"

He took his model from under his jacket and handed her unwillingly, lowering his head so as not to see her reaction.

"Here, look…"

"Golly, Chip!" the inventor tore the model out of his paw. "It's… It's Hubble, yes?! It's… It's…"

"Horrible, I know…"

"It's perfect!" Gadget finished. "It will perfectly fit into the picture! Look!"

She placed the Hubble on the table next to Condor. She shouldn't have done it because slightly relieved Chip drooped instantly. The telescope looked even more wretched and primitive now when set against the background of the silver plane.

"Surely you know better, Gadget," he mumbled, "but my model doesn't deserve to be there…"

"Why's that?"

"Well, I don't know… It spoils the composition, the lightning and such…"

"Nonsense!" Gadget cut him short. "The composition and the lightning is perfectly fine! I know what I'm saying, trust me! By the way, what did you make it from?"

"Just some garbage I found in your workshop…"

Gadget's eyes widened. "Garbage?! And with such a precision! It looks like the real one, especially the mirror! What is it made of?"

"From old CD I found on the junkyard. Took me a day to cut it out and polish."

"Golly and a half! And solar panels?"

"It's the cinefilm with pieces of audiotape glued to it."

"So you glued all those panels manually?! And I thought you took them out from some old calculator and drew the squares with some scalpel! So that's why they are so realistically iridescent! What about the hull?"

"The hull is made from metal hair rollers…"

Gadget kept asking questions and he answering them, each time more confident and well-grounded. In the end he picked his model up and started rotating it, showing how exactly each part was made and what materials were chosen, what instruments used, what variants he considered and why settled with this particular one…

Gadget shone with happiness listening to all these technical details she was keen on and little by little her questions started to touch the spheres Chip had no idea about. Nevertheless he answered them, sometimes intuitively, sometimes accidentally, sometimes finding the answer right on the spot…

He didn't remember how long they had talked. He clearly remembered, though, how Gadget subtly and as if in passing drew Dale into their conversation. By that time the red-nosed chipmunk grew disheartened, thinking he failed to draw Gadget's attention and sympathies again, but soon brightened, started to add remarks and comments and in the end he and Chip unanimously chose Gadget as their arbiter and began arguing loudly about advantages of their methods of gluing and painting…

In other words, everything settled in the best way possible and Chip became a workshop's VIP, too. Dale's supremacy showed though, and Gadget entrusted him with secondary tasks for the most part. But it didn't bother Chip even if his help was not about welding something but bringing a box with instruments. He had his undisputed "home arena", the observatory, where he reigned supreme. Due to his excessive fondness of sci-fi action movies Dale took astronomy not very seriously. Chip, on the other hand, purposely studied all the reference books he could find and could easily debate on the supernova physics and obliquity of ecliptic, delighting Gadget greatly.

That's why, lying in the ward in Small Central Hospital, he didn't give up until he had his will. Because he knew like no other Rescue Ranger how important this Christmas trip was for Gadget and couldn't permit it to get cancelled because of his fault, for he owed her too much already.


	4. Chapter 4 Therapeutic Ties

**Chapter ****4**

**Therapeutic Ties**

* 1 *

_December__ 9__th_

A sharp and loud sound tore Chip out of his dreams' embrace. The chipmunk tossed and turned and covered his face with his paw. However, his attempt to bring back the desired darkness stolen by the light striking right in his eyes turned out futile, and he quickly realized he wouldn't be able to fall asleep again. So he opened his eyes and turned to the window which was the source of both the sunrays and the sound which woke him up.

And Chip saw her.

"Good morning! For goodness' sake, I'm so sorry! I didn't want to wake you up. The curtain slider should work without a noise, but something must have clogged it…"

Now, when Chip's eyes finally adjusted to the light, he was able to duly examine the owner of a pleasant high-pitched voice. A young female chipmunk wearing clean and ironed hospital gown covering her visually slender frame. Her dark brown hair was combed backwards and arranged to form a parting right in the middle, topped by a white cap. She was still holding the lace attached to the curtain holder, and her grey eyes under long and dense eaves looked guiltily and somewhat embarrassed.

"Good morning!" Rescue Ranger answered. He rose himself on his elbows and smiled amiably. "Don't worry, everything's alright! I usually get up around this very time."

"You do?" the nurse grew surprised. "And how do you know what time is it now?"

"Well, taking into account that it's December and the sun has risen already, it must be at least a quarter past seven. As you can see, it's quite simple!"

"Yes, you are right." The nurse nodded. "It's 7:20 AM. Quite impressive!"

Chip's smile grew broader. "My job demands it! My name is Chip. Chip the Rescue Ranger."

"I know who you are, Mister Chip. And I am Mildred Munkched. Mildred Munkched the Nurse!" she answered in the same manner, also smiling. Then she pointed at the crutch lying under Chip's hand. "Does you job demand it, too?"

Now it was Chip's turn to become embarrassed.

"Oh, this— this is for convenience! To get up more quickly in case, erm, in case!" he said. Certainly he could say that his duty is full of dangers and his team has stepped on too many non-forgiving feet so he had to remain on alert. His night "confrontation" with the janitor wasn't heroic at all, though. Besides, he didn't want to pass for a paranoiac.

Mildred nodded. "I see. Well, you don't need to get up at the moment, not to mention that your injury is very serious and demands a complete rest. So stay in bed and worry about nothing. I'll bring your breakfast in half an hour."

"Really? I had no idea that the service level here includes the meal delivery right to the ward."

The nurse giggled.

"Only for the most heroic patients, Mister Chip! And those who have problems moving around by themselves."

"Oh, I see."

"See you soon, then!"

"See you soon!" he confirmed. The nurse left giving Chip who has missed her arrival by sleeping an opportunity to appreciate her graceful step. _She's nice…_ he thought, looking at the door closed behind her. Then he placed the crutch back into the prop and leant back on the pillow. Mildred said she'll bring the breakfast in half an hour, so he had time to drowse some more… Mildred Munkched. Mildred Munkched the Nurse. A pretty natural combination…

His breakfast finished, Chip placed the tray on the bedside-table and just lay there for an hour or so, peering into the white ceiling. The hospital lived its ordinary life, and he was a part of it now. Listening to the buzz of voices and steps in the corridor, dull as the sea wash, Chip imagined the ocean waves hitting the sandy beach and the rhythmic rustle of broad palm-tree leaves.

The island of Java…

_I wonder if they have got there already…_

No, definitely not. They are still in the air, in the belly of an airliner swiftly swishing the air somewhere over the Pacific.

_What are they doing?_

Most probably sleeping after the tense and nervous day, mostly sleepless night and the packing jitters…

Well, that would be right. He also needed to rest. The last two weeks turned out hard, the investigation of Fat Cat's latest affair demanding all their strength and attention. They almost missed his attack, lulled by his long absence from the scene. Turned out, he didn't retreat into hiding just to lick his wounds but went deeply underground thoroughly preparing the operation that must have brought him the fabulous wealth. But it didn't work out. Again. As usual…

Little by little Chip became bored. Despite the recent tension his energetic nature demanded action, and the forced immobility made this demand even more pronounced. _I should have asked to be put not into a single but a general ward…_ he regretted. _At least I would have had someone to talk to… There's nothing to read, too. No books, not a single writing on the walls…_

Concerning writings.

_I should write them a letter__ and send it as soon as possible. Is it possible to arrange so that the letter will be waiting for them in the hotel when they arrive? That would be great… No, it's doubtful. In any case their airliner will get there faster than the one carrying my letter. But I still must write it. When Mildred comes, I'll ask her for a pen and paper… Hope she'll come soon…_

There was a knock at the door.

"Come in, Nurse Mildred!" the chipmunk shouted. He was right.

"How you knew it was me?" Mildred asked approaching the bed.

Chip smiled mysteriously. "I foreboded and foresaw it!"

"Really?" Mildred smiled in return. "Are you a wizard?"

"No, just a detective."

"I doubt that _just detectives_ have such exact forebodings and foreseeing." She said. Chip grinned, noting the significant emphasis she made on the word "just". And that this significance was much to his liking.

"Well, what can I say… I think that even the worst detective out there would have predicted the coming of a certain chipmunk girl if she had told him she'd come to pick up the tray in an hour or so."

"Okay, the foreboding is explained. What about the foresight?"

"Oh, that's even simpler! See the window over there? From my position I can see who's standing at the door."

Mildred's face showed sincere doubt. She went around the bed and moved a bedside-table a bit to stand right near the head of the bed to check everything by herself.

"You can't see the face from here."

"But I can see the white gown and the brown hair. That's quite enough, don't you think?"

"I'm not the only nurse with brown hair here." Mildred objected, but it was clear she did it for form's sake, having accepted Chip's explanations and simply enjoying the detective game now.

"But the sum of all previous facts nets the one and only, and that's why the right result." Chip answered with a quote from Edgar Paw's "The Mystery of 'Moulin Rouge'".

"Now I see that everything is quite simple indeed!" Mildred laughed.

"That's right!" Chip grinned from cheek to cheek, openly enjoying the opportunity to assume a role of Sureluck Jones, patiently explaining Dr. Blotson the sequence of his deduction.

"Okay, looks like now, when all the mysteries are solved, I can take the dishes and leave, fully confident that we all are perfectly safe with some great detective to watch over us!" the nurse said happily. She picked up the tray and went to the door, stopping at the threshold. "By the way, Mister Chip, if you need anything…"

"Oh, yes, sure!" Chip recollected suddenly, greatly surprised to find out that the nurse's arrival and the little investigation made him forget of his previous plans. "I'd like to send my friends a letter and—"

"Sure, Mister Chip, you don't need to say anything else, I got it. I'll go get everything you need!" Mildred assured him and left, but only to come back in a few minutes holding a pack paper sheets, some envelopes and a pen made from the human ball pen shank which contained too little ink for human standards but quite enough for rodents' needs. She also brought seven books tied together with lisle thread.

"And what's— WOW!" Chip couldn't help exclaiming loudly when Mildred placed the books on the bed and he saw it was a complete set of works by Sir Howard Baskerville. "Mildred, you— _you_ are a wizard! How did you know...? No, stop, wait, don't say anything, I'll try to guess…" Chip paused for a moment, then smiled and snapped his fingers expressly loudly. "Sure! Everything is simple! You are Sureluck Jones' fan, too, and my way of deduction told you that I'm his big admirer, so you went to the hospital library and brought it to me! Am I right?"

The nurse blushed with embarrassment and Chip felt that for reasons unknown he was turning red, too.

"Please, Mister Chip, I'm really flattered by such a high praise. Your way of thinking is impressive." She winked cunningly making Chip blush harder. "But this time, I'm afraid, I have to disappoint you!"

Chipmunk instantly grew disheartened. "You mean I was wrong?"

"Well… In short, yes!"

"Where exactly?"

Mildred giggled, openly amused by this reversion of the roles.

"First of all, I'm not a Sureluck Jones fan. I read a few stories about him, though. But my grandpa — he was really crazy about him."

"You don't say so!" Chip didn't know why, but he was really glad to hear that.

"Second, there's no library in the hospital. They plan to organize it, though. The space for it was already found on the upper, ground floor, in the south-eastern corner of the hospital. The construction is already underway."

"Okay, so where are these books from?"

"Oh, that's even simpler!" Mildred was distinctly shining while repeating one of Chip's earlier phrases. "Your friends brought them! They stopped here en route to airport and left this parcel so that you wouldn't get too bored waiting for them!"

"Yes, that's definitely quite simple!" Chip slapped his forehead in feigned desperation and went on in melodramatically crushed voice. "You smashed me to pieces! I accept my complete and unconditional defeat and surrender at your discretion!"

_Gosh, why am I talking this nonsense?_ The thought flashed by but chipmunk waved it away like a nasty fly. After all, what harm could it do? Not to mention that just twenty minutes ago he was bored to death and pined for some conversation.

At my discretion, you say?" Mildred asked and squinted with canning. "That's promising, don't you think?"

Chip nodded. "I do. You have any suggestions?"

"How about a walk before dinner?"

"A walk? But—"

"Don't worry, I'll accompany you."

"Oh, I see. But what about the other patients?" Chip inquired, though, to tell the truth, the fate of other rehabilitation section clients was of no real concern to him at the moment.

"Don't worry, they will be attended quite well. I'm not the only one working here." Mildred reassured him. "Besides, apart from you and Mister Harold there are only twelve patients here now, which isn't many, trust me."

"In that case I have no objections. If it isn't a burden for you, obviously."

Mildred waved his concerns away. "Oh, please, quite the contrary! I'm sure it will be fascinating. You see, our job is mostly routine, and such an interesting patient as you is a rare occurrence indeed."

_Hmm, she called me 'an interesting patient'…_ Chip noted to himself. He liked this detachment from the mass of "common patients" and liked that she made it.

Mildred helped Chip get up and into the wheelchair, then placed the crutches into the special pockets on the back of its seat and drove him into the corridor. There they saw Dr. Stone explaining something to the female mouse dressed in black. She was almost Gadget's age, maybe just a little older, but the exhausted look and the wrinkles around her eyes which looked completely out of place on her young face made her look much older. She listened to the doctor's words attentively, saying nothing, only nodding from time to time. Chip realized Stone was telling her some really bad news and greeted him with a short nod only. Mildred also understood everything, quickened her pace and soon they left the rehabilitation section, both silent. But no sooner had they passed through the broad glass doors than Chip spoke.

"You said that apart from me, there were only thirteen patients in the section now," he said to take the strain off and liven up the trip along the monotonous corridors. "That's not too much, isn't it? I mean, as for the only hospital in the city."

"Yes, that's astonishing," the nurse agreed. "In the middle of the summer this place swarmed with those in need. But then the pressure started to subside. I think the equipment provided by Master Gadget had many to do with it. It makes the diagnostics easier and the healing quicker. She is from your team, yes?"

"Yes, she is," Chip answered, smiling dreamingly the moment her name was mentioned. "She's a real genius. The one and only…"

"I'm sure Mister Harold didn't even dream of such equipment while building the hospital!"

"Well, if Doctor Stone says that it amazes him then Mister Harold must have been totally struck—" Chip began. He noticed that Mildred swiftly changed the topic and almost caught himself on following her example almost too eagerly when the sudden thought occurred to him, pushing this and other considerations backstage.

"Wait a minute! Back in the ward you said that apart from me and Mister Harold there are— So Harold Bucksup the Third is also a patient here? Can I meet him? I've been long waiting for an opportunity to thank him for everything he had done…" chipmunk waved his hands around.

"I'm sorry…"

Mildred's voice was so full of sorrow it caused Chip to shudder like the arctic cold. "He's in the intensive care ward number three. Nobody is allowed there except the doctors and family members."

"Gosh, I had no idea! We've been too preoccupied for the last two weeks, even had to go to Sea-City for quite some time. What's with him?"

"Aging, most probably. At least that's what Dr. Stone and Dr. Spivey says."

"Aging? But he was so healthy and energetic, worked a lot."

"That's, most probably, the cause. Nervousness, overworking…"

Rescue Ranger nodded. "Looks that way."

They fell silent again and remained so until they reached the underground garage which hosted cars of Central City Hospital employees and also was a winter-time courtyard for the rodent hospital.

It was a height of the shift now so there were no people in the garage and the dense rows of the cars provided a perfect cover from security cameras. Especially if you followed a certain route marked by small yellow arrows drawn on the walls and round columns. In a few hours there will be a shift change and the silence will get broken with voices of people coming and leaving and the roar of their cars' engines. But long before that all the rodents will return to the SCH and the ventilation grate will be lowered closing the entrance and hiding it from the eyes of strangers. But it will be later. At the moment the garage belonged to those whose fate led them into becoming the workers or the patients of the animal hospital.

"Tell me, Nurse Mildred, how long have you worked here?" Chip asked upon deciding that the pause became too long and too much time had passed since he heard her voice for the last time.

"From the very opening!" she answered eagerly, apparently happy with an opportunity to digress from sad thoughts.

"Really?"

"Really. The moment I heard about the new rodent hospital recruiting personnel I caught the first bus passing by and went here. Now you can get a job here only after having passed a strict selection and been interviewed by a commission consisting of Dr. Stone, his deputy Dr, Spivey and the heads of all the sections. It can't be otherwise, for our hospital is known across the country and we have to correspond to the standards.

"In the first days it was different, though. Easier. And at the same time harder. There were plenty of those who didn't believe in this project, considered it a one-shot affair. The idea was just too huge, you know."

"Yes, I understand."

"It wouldn't have worked if it hadn't been for Mr. Bucksup, that's for sure. He found Doctor Stone and persuaded him to become the director of SCH. He and Dr. Stone together conducted all the interviews with first portion of job seekers. I was among them. You know, Mr. Harold believed in me right away. Somehow he was sure that I was right person for this job and I'd do well. Doctor Stone was skeptical because being a doctor he knew much more about this profession. But Mr. Harold managed to convince him to accept me. Partially because he knew how to convince the others, partially because there weren't many contenders.

"That's how I got this position. I worked nonstop to show Dr. Stone that he didn't make a mistake accepting me, to justify Mr. Harold's trust in me and to prove to myself that I was indeed a right person for this job and got it because of that, not because there was nobody to choose from."

Mildred paused for a while to catch a breath and get back on track the turn of which they almost missed. Then she went on.

"That's why I'm very concerned about Mr. Harold. He did so much to me… Well, not exactly 'for me' as he built this hospital for everyone in need. But owing to his efforts and enthusiasm I'm working here now knowing that I'm useful and my life means something. That's why it's hard for me to accept the fact he's leaving—" she stopped, then burst out in loud voice. "Gosh, what am I talking about?! I mustn't say that! I must hope! Doctor Spivey keeps reminding us all that we must hope, that Christmas is a time for miracles and that everything will be alright. But I— Not that I don't believe him, I just… It's hard…"

Her voice trembled. Chip looked at her and the sight of her grey eyes which seemed even brighter because of tears started to them impressed him so much that he immediately realized he just had to comfort her.

"It's okay, Nurse Mildred," he said softly turning back to her and confining her paw with his. "Everything will be alright. He'll recover, I'm sure."

She nodded with gratitude and they didn't say a word until the next turn. Mildred pushed Chip's wheelchair along the safe route while he held her hand as if trying to convey at least a tiny bit of his optimism through this touch. Even though the Dr. Stone's anxious look while he was explaining something to the young mouse in front of Mr. Bucksup's ward was anything but optimistic…

"Nurse Mildred, don't you know by chance who that female mouse Dr. Stone was talking too was?"

Chip asked the question mechanically and instinctively, like any detective facing odd question and wanting to make it clear. Immediately upon saying that he scolded himself for getting back to the sensitive topic. But Mildred has calmed down already and answered readily.

"It's Mrs. Mouise, Mr. Harold's wife."

"Wife?! She's in great shape for her age! To tell the truth I thought it was his daughter or even granddaughter—" Chipmunk broke off interrupted by Mildred's laughter.

"I'm wrong again, yes?" he asked with disappointment, though this time his grief was pretended for the most part for he was glad to have cheered his depressed companion up.

"Oh, Mr. Chip, you are so amusing! Mrs. Mouise is only slightly older than me! It's unbelievable that such an experienced and efficient specialist as you heard nothing about her!"

"Well, I don't really follow the society columns," Chip had to admit. "So I'm afraid that Mouise Bucksup's name doesn't tell me anything."

"And what about the name of Mouise Stretcher?"

"Stretcher? Hmm…"

"Mister Chip, you are disappointing me…"

"Give me a hint, please!"

"Hillywood."

"Hillywood? So she's an actress?"

"Yes! She's young but very famous already! Last year she was awarded Mousecar for the role of salamander in 'Miami Mice'."

"Excuse me, the role of whom?" Chip asked again, more than certain to have misheard her.

"Salamander," Mildred repeated and went on, forestalling all further questions. "Yes, I know it sounds incredible, and trust me, it WAS incredible. They even had to make a special show during which she went out on scene dressed like her character and took of the make-up before everybody's very eyes. She received a standing ovation and everybody knew she was the one to get that award. She's genius, but owes her success to Mr. Harold only. If it hadn't been for him it would have taken her years to get a significant role. I'm almost like her in that regard…"

"Not only in that regard," Chip added. "There are other similarities, among them fairness."

The nurse blushed heavily and the air temperature seemed to rise for twenty degrees minimum.

"Oh please…" she said, obviously embarrassed. "It's because Mrs. Mouise is a pale shadow of herself now. All these hardships, you know… It's very hard to keep on hoping and telling yourself that everything will be alright while getting the papers ready and arranging the farewell ceremony. Very hard…"

_Gosh, here we go again…_ Chip thought. It was like some vicious circle. No matter what they talked about, it inevitably switched to Mr. Harold and his health. But he knew he had to keep talking because even the most unpleasant words were better than the heavy silence. It was better for Mildred and for him, too…

"_Could it mean something?"_

_No, it's nothing. I just maintain a conversation to liven the walk up…_

"_And that's all?"_

_Well, I have to cheer her up somehow! I mustn't leave __her face to face with the sorrow alone! It's possible to drive yourself to craziness that way, I know that for certain. She needs support, and no case is too small for Rescue Rangers. It's our job, after all…_

Good idea, by the way!

"Why medicine, Nurse Mildred?"

"What? I'm sorry…"

"I mean why did you decided to become a nurse and not an actress, for example? You have very good looks, really! You'd outshine Mouise Stretcher with ease!"

"Oh, come on, Mr. Chip! Many thanks for your compliments, but I'm not worthy of them. I take a sober view of things and know I won't endure constant repetitions and travels from one shooting area to another."

"But nurse's work can be even harder!"

"That's another case whatsoever. Here I see with my own eyes that I'm useful and help patients to feel better. What about the movies? It's not me but a mere image of mine there. And not of mine, actually, but of the character I'm playing…"

"Yes, but you can't deny that sometimes an actress' performance can do much more than all the pills in the world and heal the wounds that no bandage will ever cover!"

_Oh, that's great! Now I'm poetic…_

"True," The nurse answered quietly. "But the opposite is also true. And sometimes… Sometimes neither of those can help…"

Once again the conversation made a wrong turn and Chip quickly returned to the initial question. "But still, what exactly made you to decide to become a nurse?"

"That's family business. My grandpa lived his entire life in the medicine warehouse…"

_Phew, this should keep us away from Mr. Harold for a while…_

"That's quite an unusual choice for a chipmunk."

"I know. But from the early childhood he felt drawn to civilization, and after the wedding he and grandma moved to the city. Here he finally found what he always longed and craved for—"

"Books."

Mildred stopped.

"How do you know?"

"Well, you said he was a huge fan of Sureluck Jones so I thought…"

"Oh dear, sure!" The nurse laughed. "I've forgot about saying this to you in the ward, imagine that!"

"I've almost forgot about it myself!"

"But you didn't! Yes, grandpa read lots. I wouldn't exaggerate saying that he read every single book in this city which isn't strange given that there were not very many of them in those days. Her daughter, my mother, didn't like the city life at all, and when she grew up she left grandpa's house forever."

"Call of nature?"

"Yes, something like that."

"I'm afraid to imagine what your grandfather's reaction was…"

"No, far from it! He didn't object. He always said that everyone has his own way, so there were no quarrels or breakups. They constantly communicated and often visited one another. When I was little, my parents brought me with them here. Grandpa and I had long walks around the warehouse among the shelves with all those boxes and bottles. He taught me all these strange and funny names, supplanting each new intricate word with a lecture about what this drug cures. Later, when I lost my parents, I moved here, and all my youth was spent amidst the medicines. I knew lots of them by names, could tell them apart by scent and shape of the vials and remembered their compositions by heart. Not every single one, but many of them…"

"Oh, I see now!" Chip smiled. Mildred, looking right in front of her, didn't noticed it and went on, her voice becoming slower and quieter with each new word.

"And then grandpa fell ill. I kept asking him what medicine he needed to get better again and he looked at me and always answered the same. 'My medicine isn't here.' 'You mean they haven't delivered it yet?' I would ask, and he would smile and say: 'You can say so.' And I would go and meet every truck arriving to the warehouse waiting for this new medicine to be delivered.

"That truck didn't come. Later I realized that it just couldn't have come. There was no such medicine at all. You wouldn't find it in this city, this state and this country. It just wasn't there…

"That's why I'm here. If there is a place where my knowledge has any use, it's in this hospital. I also considered this job a chance. A chance to help those who need it to meet the truck with their medicine… Excuse me…"

She stopped and rubbed her eyes with a handkerchief. Chip nodded knowingly and all of a sudden felt himself awkward for making her go through all those painful memories again and literally pouring out her heart to him, a patient she sees for the first time in her life…

"_What if it was not without purpose?"_

_No, no way! I won't fall into this trap again! Having doubted Dale and Gadget is enough of me!_

"Forgive me, Nurse Mildred, I didn't mean to…" he finally said. "I am very sorry that I, well, practically forced you to tell me this…"

"Don't worry, Mister Chip, it's okay. You are right, though, I— you know, that's me who must apologize for having burdened you with it…"

"No, Mildred, there's no need to apologize at all!" Chip assured her, still impressed with her story so much and so hurry to correct her that he forgot to mention her title.

"You forgot to say 'Nurse'." Mildred reminded him.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Chip hastily corrected himself, cursing inwardly for loss of vigil and allowed familiarity. "I didn't want to offend you!"

"Forget it, Mister Chip! Quite the contrary, I… Well, I'm absolutely fine with it!"

"Really?" Chipmunk brightened in a fracture of a second.

"Honestly! Not to mention that this 'Nurse' made me feel like some old and unpleasant movie character."

"In that case, can I ask you a favor in return?"

"Sure!"

"Will you call me just 'Chip' without all those 'misters'?"

"I will, Mister… just Chip!" Mildred nodded, smiling broadly.

* 2 *

His dinner finished, Chip decided to while away his afternoon rest with some reading and writing his friends a letter. According to schedule, at this very moment they should have been in Taiwan's Taoyuan International Airport waiting for the plane to get them to Soekarno-Hatta International Airport. It would take them six more hours to reach Jakarta, but Chip wanted to send the letter as fast as possible so that it would reach Jakarta by tomorrow evening, local time. By this time the other Rescue Rangers would have settled in the hotel already and even had time for a walk around the city, and would be pleasantly surprised by his letter waiting for them at the reception. They would read it and sit down to write an answer which he would get only the next day, but due to 15 hours of time difference the letter would seem to have been sent just a couple of hours ago.

Such speed of mail delivery was phenomenal by human standards, but it was what is usually called a silver lining to the cloud. The boom of electronic means of communication changed the lives of billions of people throughout the world but only barely influenced the animal world. Computers were too hard to comprehend for the overwhelming majority of them and still remained the privilege of small groups of scientists from large laboratories and institutes. The same was true for telephone and even more so for mobile communication which demanded construction and maintenance of widely branched infrastructure.

That's why the paper letters remained the basic means of information relay and that's why huge success was achieved in this field. As a result, the International Pigeon Express worked considerably faster than human mail. The reasons were manifold: the considerably smaller correspondence volume (in all senses of this word), almost complete lack of bureaucracy and full-scale and astonishingly effective use of human airliners.

The mailbirds quickly delivered the letters to the nearest airport's secluded corner where the animal post office was established. There the optimal travel scheme was built for each letter based on maps of air routes between world's largest cities and flight schedules after which it was loaded on the needed plane along with passenger luggage. Upon arrival the workers of local IPE post office took them out and sent further along the route. After many years this tried and true system worked like Swiss clockwork and the letters delivery time didn't exceeded the airliners travel time too much.

Sure thing, the maintenance of this system demanded constant attention and notable expenses, the lion's share of which was covered by customers. In human currency the fees were outrageous, but suited everybody not willing to risk their hides traveling by themselves. Besides these expenses weren't too painful because in Small World lots of other things were for free. Not to mention that one could pay with anything from foods and own homemade goods to gold and jewelry.

The payments were usually made in local post offices but if you didn't want to carry anything precious across a number of blocks you could always drop your letter into one of the postal boxes scattered along the city and pay later to a raven-money collector arriving at your home address. Another variant also existed: dropping payment into a postal box along with your letter if the 'money's' nature allowed it. It wasn't too popular but still used often enough to attract rascals raiding the boxes. A rule of a thumb for minimizing the risks was to install the boxes in highly populated and well-observed spots and employment of guards in the problem districts.

The most reliable in this regard were the boxes installed in such 'enclaves of civilization' as Fat Cat's Casino, Siamese Twins' Laundromat, the most popular supermarkets and, since recently, the Small Central Hospital, the latter being known for its almost exceptional safeties. First, they were located inside the compound, and second ― all the mail expenses of personnel and patients were covered by Harold Bucksup III which made their robbery moot in advance.

Chip picked up a pen and twisted it in his hand for several minutes, peering at a paper sheet placed on the book for convenience. He rarely wrote letters and even those were written collectively by all Rescue Rangers as answers for Christmas and Independence Day greetings and congratulations with another anniversary of the team creation. That's why it took him almost half an hour to come up with a suitable beginning. He would have probably spent even more time guessing and weighing his options if Sureluck Jones hadn't come to help him again with his favorite tactics of omniscient questions.

_Dear friends!_

_How __did the flight go? How badly sick did Dale become? How long did the traffic jam standing last? Why did you give the rickshaw and the porter so many tips? What kind of cheese caused Monty's cheese attack this time? Why didn't camera work as it should have?_

Chip grinned as he imagined his friends' faces lengthened in amazement, especially if all his blind shots turned out spot on. To be honest, he didn't hope for perfect result. After all, Monty was too experienced traveler not to know how many tips one should give cabbies and hotel staff in order to neither overpay nor offend, so in this case he most probably was wide of the mark. But Chip was more than certain about everything else. Dale must have gotten fly sick, at least a bit. The number of cars in Jakarta exceeds all conceivable limits so getting stuck in a traffic jam was just as inevitable as Monty's cheese attack for Aussie was a grandmaster of finding a cheese in the most improbable places. Lastly, his friends wouldn't go city-seeing without a camera, and Gadget's inventions worked without any problems so seldom it has long become the talk of the town.

_I sincerely hope that your letter will contain the answers for these and many other questions and I__ really can't wait to hear from you. If only you knew how much I miss you. Staying in hospital isn't the most enthralling activity to say the least, that's why I lack words to express you my gratitude for bringing all these books for me…_

Leader of the Rescue Rangers paused thinking if he should add something like "Gadget, this idea of yours was ingenious, just like all other ideas of yours". Imagining her happy smile upon reading this, chipmunk resolutely pressed the pen to the paper…

And stopped short.

After all, this idea could be not Gadget's at all, but, for example, Dale's, who knows Chip inside out… Gosh, all his friends without exception knew of his fondness of detective novels and every one of them could come up with it with equal probability. Certainly the opportunity to play the great detective was very tempting and would repay him a hundredfold if he succeeded. But if he didn't…

Now Chip saw Dale's sad face, his best friend deeply insulted with Chip's inability to appreciate his merit once again. After some time Dale got replaced by Monty, then came Zipper's turn. Finally chipmunk envisioned Gadget's guilty outlook as she parted her hands and spoke to the other three downcast Rangers: "Golly, guys, I'm sorry! I dunno why Chip thought I was the only author of our mutual idea…"

No, he has no right to risk that. The price of his error would be too high. He should write something neutral but pleasant at the same time. Something like this.

_I don't know who exactly came up with that idea, but it __really doesn't matter. Huge thanks for you, all of you! I'm happy to have such heedful and caring friends like you!_

Yes, that's much better!

_I know you worry about me and that no matter what I'll write and how many times I'll ask you not to worry you won't listen and will still worry. That being said, I ask you: don't worry for me and enjoy your vacation. Think of me as having a vacation, too, especially since basically that's exactly the case. Although, as I've already mentioned, sometimes it gets boring and the local food is no match to creations of Monty's culinary genius, I'm fine here. So I ask you once again not to worry about me. Especially you, __my dear Gadget. Don't worry about me, worry about your theories which, I know it for sure, are very important both for you personally and for the science in general. I believe in you. You'll make it. I'm with you and I'll always be with you, all of you, no matter how many miles of roads, jungles and seas will be between us._

_Good luck._

_Sincerely yours,_

_Chip_

The last dot written, Chip reread the text and, satisfied with the results of his epistolary quest, sealed the envelope. Now it was up to International Pigeon Express to deliver it to Jakarta's hotel 'Borobudur'. Or, more precisely, its rodent counterpart.

As soon as Chip wrote the hotel's name on the envelope, his mind's eye saw an enormous structure consisting of six squared and three circular platforms decorated with thousands of bas-reliefs and hundreds of statues portraying Buddha. An ancient temple, the main dome of which with its sky-piercing spire rises more than one hundred feet above the ground. Tourists from all over the world arrive here, on the coast of the lake dried up more than six centuries ago to see this pearl of ancient architecture which previously soared over the tranquil waters like a giant lotus flower.

Surely, Rescue Rangers weren't going to miss the opportunity to touch the history, too, and the tour to Borobudur was one of the main items in the program of their visit to Indonesia. Designed by Monterey Jack who spent three days in his room compiling it, the voyage schedule made other Rangers gasp loudly enough to cause the curtains flutter. There was a good reason for it, because even the list of needed ARK components written by Gadget was almost twice as short as a list of places that, according to an agitated speech of old adventurer supplanted with rich body language, they were simply obliged to visit. The bad news was that in order to do this Rescue Rangers would have to spend the next six months traveling non-stop.

But Monty was determined to pull it off seeing it as a unique opportunity to familiarize his friends with one of the most eventful pages of his multivolume biography. The route he planned crossed Indonesia from coast to coast several times and encompassed not only all more or less famous monuments but lots of places which were of no interest to the vast majority of people and animals. But not for Aussie who seemed to have bright and dear memories about every stone, spring and tree in this part of the world.

Chip couldn't hold a smile remembering all the twists and turns of that memorable and prolonged council. The Battle on the Route lasted till morning and resulted in cutting the initial list by three times and bringing the overall travel duration to reasonable five weeks. The price of victory was very high, though, because in return the four Rangers had to listen to all the stories Monty planned to tell on site here and now.

One of these sites was a winding trail in jungles running along the border between the territories of two nearby tribes of Sumatran golden orangutans. For centuries these tribes fought with one another and this trail was actually a war path. Later, with arrival of Europeans and beginning of intensive island exploration and deforestation, their kind was brought to the verge of extinction. The chiefs of both tribes realized it was silly and simply felonious to kill one another and made peace. Since that time the trail got another meaning and became a part of rites of initiation of male orangutans into warriors. Each young orangutan had to reach the end of the trail overpowering five adversaries from another tribe along the way. If he failed he could never become a soldier, the most respected title among the orangutans. The fights were no joke since the second tribe was interested in keeping balance and limiting numbers of other tribe's members allowed to carry weapons. The killing was strictly forbidden, though, and the violators were severely punished. This way the test showed not only challengers' strength and agility but also their ability to control themselves in a heat of a fight. After all, no matter how serious the conflict was, the survival of the kind was paramount.

"And what all of it has to do with you, Monty?" The Rangers asked, almost fallen asleep by the end of this prolonged introduction.

Monty's moustache stirred slightly showing displeasure, but the glance at the nearest watch was enough to conclude that it was indeed very late, or rather, very early, and at this rate he would never tell his friends everything he wanted. So he speeded up and jumped to the epilogue. Having done a good turn to these tribes, he was made an honorary member of both of them at once and bestowed a great honor to become the first non-orangutan to take part in the aforementioned rites of initiation. Monty, already familiar with the rules, wasn't quite in raptures over this but couldn't decline the offer as he would insult his new friends deeply and lose their respect.

Despite the huge size difference he managed to overcome all his foes sometimes by brute force, sometimes by wits, sometimes by stealth. When he finally reached the intended destination he was met by the second tribe's representatives who congratulated him and happily informed that now he should go back to the start position and that five warriors of another tribe were already waiting…

"All in all, it was very interesting and captivating!" Aussie summed up.

"Yes, very much…" the others yawned their agreement while crossing yet another item from the list…

_Poor Monty, he wanted us to see the Glass Reef of Bali so much…_ Chip thought and sighed, depressed with his injury which forced his friends to cut their journey plan once again. Some other time then. The reefs won't go anywhere. Not to mention that even though the current two-week version of the trip was limited to island of Java only it was still very rich.

They will spend the first two days spend in Jakarta, abundant with places of interest, then have a long trip eastwards through city of Bandung known by its picturesque tropical art-deco architecture and Magelang in the neighborhood of which aforementioned Borobudur was located.

The next station is Yogyakarta, a large center of Javanese culture with lots of museums telling about the island's long and eventful history, in particular Indonesian National Revolution. Then it will be time to visit Prambanan, the largest Hindu temple in Indonesia. The towers of its three main shrines with monumental grey walls are outright overwhelming at day while at night they are illuminated by numerous floodlights installed along the perimeter and look like three mountains of unnatural gold piercing through the vast green jungle carpet. By the end of the week Rangers will be in seaport Surabaya, the capital of East Java province, from where they will head southwards to the volcanoes Bromo and Semeru. They will spend the final days before the eclipse there. Afterwards they will catch a touring bus back to Surabaya, from there go by plane to Jakarta and finally return here through Sydney just in time to celebrate Christmas...

"Your supper, Chip!"

Chipmunk gave a start and saw Mildred at the door holding a tray.

"Oh, sure! Excuse me, looks like I got completely lost in thoughts..."

"True!" the nurse answered gaily as she crossed the room. "I knocked but you didn't move a muscle! That's what I call concentration! I wish I could do that and not get distracted by the slightest noise!"

"Oh, that's nothing!" Chip brushed it off with a smile, grateful for such a neat explanation of what is basically called 'total loss of guard'. "Anybody can learn that after a little practice!"

"Will you teach me?" Mildred inquired and Chip was able to discern something else besides simple asking for help and sincere wish to achieve success as fast as possible in her question.

"With pleasure," he said and one could discern something else besides simple consent in his answer. "When will we begin?"

Mildred shrugged her shoulders. "I have no idea. My today's shift has almost ended... How about tomorrow?"

Chip thoughtfully scratched his chin.

"Tomorrow, tomorrow... Excuse me, please, I have to check my organizer!" Chip grabbed the topmost book from the table and leafed it to the very end where imaginary December was. Mildred appreciated his joke and gave a muffled laugh. Chip was barely holding from burst out laughing, too, but managed to keep the fixed face. He read the page attentively, exclaimed in triumph and closed the book.

"I know it's hard to believe, but tomorrow I'm perfectly free for the entire day!"

"Really?" Despite brimming over with laughter Mildred was able to feign utter surprise. "What do you think of meeting here after breakfast and combining the lesson with a walk if the weather allows it?"

"Sounds great to me! I'll do whatever I can not to come late!"

Mildred giggled. "I very much hope so! Enjoy your meal!" She headed to the door but Chip stopped her.

"Oh, I almost forgot! Could you please drop my letter into a mail box?"

"Sure!" The nurse took the envelope and left. Chip sat for some more time looking at the door with somewhat foolish smile. Then he caught some movement behind the window with a corner of his eye and saw a puzzled look on a face of an orderly standing there. Realizing he was looking like a patient of not rehabilitation but psychiatric section Chip roused and set to his supper. He found the meal oversalted and once again missed dishes cooked by Monterey who always knew the proportions of even the most exotic ingredients, let alone simple salt.

Setting the tray with empty plates aside Chip picked up the book he started reading earlier but after finishing two stories felt himself unable to fight drowsiness. Usually the stories about Sureluck Jones made him feel everything but sleepiness, but this time everything was different. On the other hand, it was one of the last collections of stories which Howard Baskerville wrote already pretty tired with the character he created. So Chip could only marvel at how easily the author's weariness conducted to the reader, put the book aside and lower the pillow. Only now did he realize how tired he indeed was. And while the previous night was full of battles with janitors and memories of the past, this time his sleep was deep and dreamless.

* 3 *

"Got it?"

"It was even easier than I thought!"

"Looks like you are really good catch! Any qualms of conscience? "

"I left my conscience in hard and lonely childhood, boss…"

"No need to say it, I know your story. Okay, give it to me! What do we have here…? Interesting… Our patient plays detective fairly well! The bluffing is simple but effective against amateurs. Take a look."

"Wow! His insight is fascinating, boss!"

"Just like I said… Okay, give it back, let's see what's next… 'If only you knew how much I miss you…' '…don't worry for me…' '…think of me as having a vacation…' Let's hope it. Oh, that's really interesting! 'Don't worry about me, worry about your theories…' What a noble impulse, don't you think?"

"Yeah…"

"Are you jealous?"

"Well, I―"

"Don't say, I see it all by myself. 'I'm with you and I'll always be with you, all of you, no matter how many miles of roads, jungles and seas will be between us…'"

"Is it necessary to read it out loud, and with expression to boot?"

"Sure it isn't! Okay, seal it back and send away, there's nothing to worry about."

"As if he could sniff something out within a day, not to mention the tender attendance so to speak…"

"Agreed, let's hope it will distract him…"

* 4 *

_December 11__th__, noon_

"Time's up, Mildred!"

"What? Are you sure?"

"Yes, I noted the time down. Let's see what you've got…"

Chip took the paper sheet densely covered with writings from Mildred. She watched him with hope while he scanned her work thoroughly and shook his head with disappointment.

"No, that won't do."

Mildred lowered her eyes.

"How many mistakes and omissions this time?" she asked barely audible.

"Thirty three."

The nurse cheered up. "But Chip, that's not fifty eight!"

"It isn't ten either, agree?"

"Yes, sure, you're right…"

Mildred looked away again with head reclined on her hands which already started shaking. No matter how hard she tried, her result remained unsatisfactory.

It was the second day of their attention concentration skills development training. Chip borrowed the methodology from the book by a former CIA agent in which the real spy duty was portrayed. Chip purchased it for Dale to show his friend that all the adventures of Dirk Suave have nothing to do with reality. But Dale fell asleep by the middle of the first part already and became even more convinced that Dirk Suave was a genius while the rest of so called 'intelligence operatives' were no more than dullards needing to be taught the very basics. Seeing that his friend had no intention to finish the book, Chip carefully studied it himself to be able to insert mocking commentaries about Dirk Suave's antics later. Not to mention that this information could prove useful in their work, during another possible encounter with The Greatest Spy in the World, for example.

Naturally, Chip paid much more attention to the second and third parts of the book where the methods of agential work were described. But life, as usual, had plan of its own and the first part dedicated to the various aspects of future agents training turned out the most needed. Among other things it contained the description of the exercise to develop the skill of learning and processing incoming information under pressure and stress, concentrating on the task at hand only and blocking off all the outside interference.

In this case the procedure looked like this. Mildred, the student, received from her curator Chip the page with an extract from a short story about Sureluck Jones. She had five minutes to complete the task, namely to cross out all 'o'-s, underline all 'a'-s, and encircle all 'e'-s. Quite simple, really. But only if nobody interferes…

"Underline all 'o'-s, cross out all 'e'-s!" Chip shouted suddenly forcing the nurse to twitch and lose the working rhythm, become nervous and miss the needed letters. No sooner did she calm down a little than Chip said a-matter-of-factly "You overlooked two letters" and the nurse involuntarily went back to the previous line. When she got more or less used to ignore these 'new' instructions Chip changed his tactics. The list of his feints included songs, jokes, grabbing her hand or pen, shaking the sheet, making faces and other antics which could make even Dale green with envy. Chip would feel uneasy to behave like that with one of his friends not wanting to look stupid. But for some reason in Mildred's presence he felt relaxed and easy like never before. And even stranger than that, he openly enjoyed it.

"All right, Mildred, I see you need some rest so let's have a break," Chip said. He folded the papers and placed them into book. "Believe me, you fare quite well for a beginner!"

Mildred looked at him again. "Really?"

Chip nodded affirmatively and squeezed her shoulder.

"Sure! Even the most talented people didn't achieve their results from the first attempt. Only practice makes perfect!"

"You are right, Chip. It's just that when I look at such a master of the craft as you the thought occurs to me that I will never reach this level…"

"I can't believe I hear such a great and experienced specialist like you saying something like this! My ears must be playing tricks on me!"

"Oh, please! Experienced… I've been working here for six months only while you… How long have you been a Rescue Ranger? At least approximately and certainly if it's not a secret…"

"No secrets here and no approximations. I can tell you an exact date! Our team was formed on…"

Upon hearing the date Mildred's eyes popped out of her head.

"Oh my…! This is― this is incredible! I couldn't even imagine!"

Chip shrugged his shoulders. "To tell the truth, sometimes it amazes me, too. You can't live that long, as they say."

"Now I see how you got to know everything!"

"Everything? Oh, come on, no one can know everything! Take the pharmacology, for instance. I'll never have the expertise comparable to yours in this field!"

"Come on…" the female chipmunk waved her hand off but it was obvious her mood improved significantly. "I'm just an amateur compared to Dr. Spivey…"

"And I'm complete layman of investigation compared to Sureluck Jones, so what?" Chip asked in return. Anyone who had known him long enough would be crushed on the spot by this matter-of-fact declaration. Then again, in his friends' presence Chip wouldn't even think to say something like that. But Mildred was another case whatsoever, Chip was certain of that. The question of 'how much another?' remained open, though…

"Well, comparison against real rodents is one thing, while against a fictional character…"

"Look, Mildred, even such a prominent specialist as Dr. Stone didn't become a luminary in medicine he is now right away. And still he sometimes needs help from other doctors. Like now, for instance!" Chip motioned at Dr. Stone walking slowly in their direction accompanied by a male squirrel who wore a medical gown slipped over old-fashioned business suit. They were talking of something but were too far away to hear what exactly.

Mildred followed Chip's glance and giggled.

"You know, Chip, looks like you weren't exaggerating much when you used a word 'layman'…"

Chip looked in her in sheer surprise then glanced back at two old rodents. "That is… You mean… So Dr. Stone's friend is not a doctor? But I saw him entering and leaving Mr. Bucksup's ward a couple of times and you said that nobody is allowed except doctors and relatives. Since Harold Bucksup III is a mouse, this person being a squirrel can't be his relative. So it follows he must be a doctor. Where's my mistake?"

Mildred cast her eyes down.

"You are absolutely right, Chip. It's me who lead you astray. You see, Mr. Nutson is so close to the Bucksups I automatically included him into the 'relatives' category."

"Mr. Nutson?"

"Yes, Nutson. Perry Nutson. He's an attorney of the Bucksup family. His father, Peregrin Nutson worked for Harold Bucksup II, Mr. Harold's father, and his grandfather Persival ― for Harold Bucksup I."

"Wow!" astonished Rescue Ranger exclaimed. "Mildred, you are a fount of knowledge! How do you know all this?"

"My grandpa told me. He was very well-read and wise. He was also much respected and they often asked him to settle various disputes. I told you that after my parents' death he brought me here and did everything he could to be like a mother and a father to me, to pass me his wisdom and experience. Every evening we had a long talk, discussed events of the day and the lessons they presented.

"That's how I heard about Mr. Harold and the Coo-Coo Cola Cult. At first it was considered no more than a bunch of lunatics but when Harold Bucksup III became its member the treatment changed greatly. They invited my grandpa to join them, too, but he rejected flatly and said that he felt some catch there and that it wouldn't end well."

"He was right."

"Yes, just like he always was. Many people came to him afterwards to apologize for not taking his words seriously and falling into this trap. Up until his death he kept reminding me of this story giving Harold Bucksup III as a proof that wisdom can't be bought but only gained through personal experience and sometimes the price you pay is bigger than all the word's gold. In Mr. Harold's case the price was family happiness for he divorced his wife because of the Cult…"

Mildred stopped short and covered her mouth with her paw.

"Excuse me, Mister Chip, I think I'm saying what I shouldn't…"

"It's okay, Mildred. Go on, please!" Chipmunk asked. "It's very interesting! And remember, we agreed to skip those 'misters'."

"I don't want you to think of me as a scandalmonger…"

"Oh boy, Mildred, what are you talking about? Your grandpa told you about it, but you don't consider him a scandalmonger, do you?"

"No, not at all!"

"See? There's nothing shameful with it. But if it makes a difference to you, consider it, say, investigation assistance! What would you say?"

The nurse smiled. "Well, if you say so, that does make a difference!" Chip also smiled to encourage her to proceed with the Bucksups Saga. Not that he was fond of poking into other's private lives but at the moment his detective instinct won. Then again, he got really tired of finding himself in the wrong boat having made far-fetching conclusions out of incomplete information. That's why he couldn't allow wasting such a chance to get a comprehensive view on the situation at hand for it would have been an epitome of foolishness if not outright criminal negligence on his part.

"Mrs. Mouise, as you may have guessed already, is Mr. Harold's second wife," Mildred began. "The first was Barbara Swissand, the daughter of one of the richest families of the East Coast. She was beautiful, smart and kind person, and their marriage lasted for a very long time and withstood everything, from financial difficulties to ill-wishers' intrigues. But, as my grandpa put it, 'fell under weight of arrogance'.

"You see, when Harold Bucksup talked about joining the Cola Cult for the very first time, she told him something shady was going on there. Although Mister Harold used to trust his wife's judgment, this time he balked. Mrs. Barbara didn't back off, too, trying her best to keep her husband from getting into a mess. As a result both remained of the same mind but Mrs. Barbara promised to file a divorce if her husband joined the Cult."

"That's quite serious!"

"Yes, verily! But even that didn't stop Mr. Harold and the very next after he passed the rights of admission Mrs. Barbara packed up, left Mr. Nutson all the needed instructions and returned to New York.

"Mr. Nutson took their break-up really hard. He even visited my grandpa to ask his advice on the matter. Grandpa listened to his story and said: 'Sure you must try to bring them to reason, but as far as I know, they both are very proud and this case demands at least one of them to be the first to go back on his or her word. It's possible, but they must come to it on their own, it won't settle right away. Time is needed…'"

"But the Cola Cult has transformed long ago!" Chip objected. "And Harold Bucksup received all the evidence that his wife was right! Why then―"

Mildred smiled sadly. "Apparently, he is too obstinate to admit his mistake."

"What about Mrs. Barbara?"

"I can't say anything about her. But as for me, in this case it's Mr. Harold who must make the first step. After all, he proved wrong… Well, I don't know…"

Chip nodded. "I see…" He remained silent for some time, digesting what he had heard. Then he looked at the doctor and the attorney now sitting on the bench at the base of the column, the same Mildred was sitting on while he stopped his wheelchair nearby. At the moment Stone was talking and Nutson was harking to him, time after time making some notes on his writing pad.

"It's hard to keep on hoping while getting the papers ready…" he murmured recalling Mildred's phrase, so short and at the same time so capacious that no other words were needed. Everything was clear already…

"You know, Chip…"

"What, Mildred?"

"Sometimes someone may tell you that Mr. Harold married Mrs. Mouise just to annoy his wife…"

"Really?!" Chipmunk raised his eyebrows.

"That's why I want you to know that it's not true!"

"Why not?"

"Because Mr. Harold still loves her despite their quarrel, divorce and his pride."

Chip hemmed skeptically.

"Why did he marry her then?"

"Remember I told you that Mrs. Mouise is very talented?"

"Sure I do. The role of salamander, Mousecar…"

"If it hadn't been for Mr. Harold, it wouldn't have happened."

"So what we have here is a typical mercenary marriage."

Mildred gave a sigh full of grief.

"You too, Chip…"

"I'm sorry, Mildred, it's just… Well, it's the first version coming to mind!" Chip hastily apologized, scolding himself up hill and down dale for lack of restraint and yet another hasty conclusion.

"Yes, I know. From the outside it really looks like young actress hooked an old moneybag bachelor to buy a career for her. But their marriage was solely Mr. Harold's idea. He saw her for the first time on the scene of some provincial theater performing a role of male squirrel, mind you, which she had to play because all other male actors were already preoccupied. Her role was episodic but Mr. Harold still noticed her, that is, him, and was astonished to know it was really a mouse girl for her make-up while made from primitive materials at hand made her almost indistinguishable from the real squirrel!"

"Wow…"

"Indeed. So he promised himself to make her a superstar and help to achieve the glory and recognition she deserved but, being a daughter of a common farmer, had no chance getting. Soon after the wedding they went to Hillywood where she entered the most prestigious acting school. She finished it in two years instead of four and the diploma opened her the way to title roles. Everything else is history ― 'Miami Mice', Mousecar award, glory…"

"Okay, suppose everything was like that," Chip said when Mildred finished. "But I still don't understand what the wedding was for. Wasn't her being his protégé enough? Not to mention that she kept her maiden name…"

Mildred gave him a lenient smile. "Oh, Chip, you are definitely far, far away from showbiz. Her maiden name is a stage pseudonym of sorts because it's catching and sounds better. But everybody knows her real name is Bucksup and, mind you, this is the key to many doors."

"I see."

"And now," Mildred sighed after a short pause, "everything is hanging by a thread…"

"But why? Is even the Mousecar not enough? Still, even after a couple of related cases, the showbiz is still an uncharted territory for me…"

"Showbiz…? No, I mean the new hospital."

"New hospital?" Chip asked warily.

"Yes, in San-Angeles. The opening is scheduled for the middle of the next year. Mister Harold announced it last week on the meeting with the hospital workers. There we would have to start a work from scratch and a number of experienced workers will be transferred there. It's up to Doctor Stone to select the most worthy candidates… Where do you think it will be situated?"

"In a hospital, just like this one."

"Yes, but which hospital exactly?"

Chip shrugged. "I have no idea. I don't know San-Angeles well."

"But _this_ hospital you must know!"

"Don't tantalize me, Mildred, please! What hospital?"

The nurse smiled triumphantly and said, drawling the words to mimic Chip's manner.

"It's Pacific Medical Center!"

Chipmunk almost choked over.

"Pacific Center?! But that's… There is…"

"Yes, Central City Hospital is just a country veterinary's hut compared to it! Doctor Xavier runs a small clinic in the Center, with just about ten rodent doctors working there. Actually it's no more than a few cabinets and a storeroom with bandages and first aid kit medications. We have what they don't have ― the equipment and the people who know how to operate it. And they have what we lack ― space."

Mildred motioned her paw about the garage. "You see, Chip, our hospital almost reached its limits. At first this recess between the underground garage, building's foundation and the bearing wall looked ideal and spacious enough. But this impression proved deceptive, 'cause only now we became aware of our real needs. There's much more suitable space in Pacific Center and its location is more convenient providing immediate access to hospital storage. It's simply fantastic and that hospital has potential to become the main rodent hospital in the country!"

"That's great! Will you go there?"

Nurse shook her head. "No, I don't want to leave. I like our hospital and besides, my roots are here…"

"Yes, I understand!" Chip nodded, for some reason greatly relieved by her answer. But then Mildred looked at Stone and Nutson and added:

"But now, with Mister Harold badly ill, it's difficult to say anything for certain. Only in moments like this you really understand how much depends on a single person, his willpower, dedication, vitality… Yeah, vitality… On that meeting Mr. Harold was an embodiment of health and energy, and then, five days later, they brought him here. He was very weak but kept saying that there was nothing to worry about, that it just a slight malady which would pass shortly and his wife raised a false alarm. Analysis showed nothing special but his state wasn't improving. Doctor Stone suspected the worst and transferred him to intensive care ward. He's been there since then… Excuse me…"

Chip drove closer and put his paw on her shoulder. "It's okay, Mildred."

The nurse nodded and put her palm above his to show she appreciates his support. But Chip's gesture had an additional goal ― to create favorable conditions for asking the question which had been bothering him since the very first day. When Mildred calmed down, he asked it.

"Listen, Mildred… Since we met I came to know much and realized even more. But I still don't get one thing…"

"What is it?" The nurse asked putting her handkerchief back into her pocket. She looked at Chip and tried to meet his glance but chipmunk kept looking steadily at her temple. A simple technique which allows you to look at your interlocutor without meeting his or her eyes. Very useful when you want to shatter somebody's composure, or when you yourself are ashamed of looking into somebody's eyes. Right now Chip was feeling some strange and highly unusual awkwardness and couldn't really say which of these goals he was pursuing.

"Well, to be honest, that is… In short, why do you worry about Mr. Harold so much? Yes, I know, he did so much but… You are talking of him like he is a relative of yours, so I wonder… And I also wanted to ask you… I have to ask you why you are telling all this to me, a stranger you've never seen before…"

Chip stopped short as the expression of sincere curiosity on Mildred's face changed into confusion and then into righteous rage. Her lips turned into a thin line, nostrils widened, eyebrows moved to the nose bridge and bright angry sparkles made her grey eyes almost colorless.

"Mister Chip, that's… That's… You…" She could barely open her mouth. She was breathing hard and her breast heaved like forge bellows. She tore his hand off her shoulder and stood up abruptly with an obvious intention to go away from him. But after just two steps she stopped and buried her face into her paws. The medical gown hanging loosely on her frame hid her tremor but it was clear from her shoulders' convulsive movement that she was fiercely shaking.

"Mildred, please…" Chip began driving up to her. He wanted to take the nurse by her elbow but his hand remained hanging in the air because at that very moment Mildred spun around and, turning her face disfigured with fury and crying, shouted at him with all the might of her hoarse voice.

"KNOW WHAT, MISTER CHIP?! YOU― YOU ARE― YOU ARE A SCOUNDREL! A MONSTER! You… You wormed yourself into my trust…! Asked your questions…! You even called it 'an investigation assistance'! And then― then you… Why, why did I tell you all this? What for? Why was I talking about it with someone who CAN'T UNDERSTAND ANYTHING?!!"

She turned away from him again. Chip nervously glanced around and realized that the whole courtyard was watching, from Dr. Stone and Mr. Nutson on the bench nearby and other animals walking about to a chipmunk-janitor standing still in the middle of the garage with refuse bags, his face even more distorted than Mildred's.

_Gosh, what I've done…_ Chip thought. _I'm definitely some kind of a heartless blockhead the sight of which even veteran janitor can't withstand without feeling disgust…_

"Forgive me…" he said, but the first time his voice was too quiet and uneven. He cleared his throat and repeated his plead louder. And then once more, this time yelling at the top of his voice.

"FORGIVE ME, MILLIE!"

The echo of his shout bounced off the concrete walls not only making everybody shudder but set off the alarms of the nearest car. The piercing wailing filled the garage. The rodents froze, then darted to the nearest hidings. Chip tried to grab Mildred's hand once again to lead her behind the column but she waved his paw again. Chipmunk thought everything was lost irrevocably and grew cold with terror. It turned out, though, that Mildred rejected his help in order to drive him out of sight herself. In a few seconds the garage was empty and lifeless, so when two guards came running into the garage with their guns at the ready, they could do nothing but scratch their heads and call the owner of the car in question.

When the alarms were off and people left, the animals went out of hiding and the hospital entrance grate opened again, signifying that the SCH was back to normal work. But the episode as a whole was far from settled.

"Millie, please…" Chip started again when they left their hideout but was interrupted by storm of applause from accidental witnesses of their drama. Nurse blushed heavily and looked away. Chip also blushed but managed to overcome his embarrassment and waved at the public, thanking them for their attention and at the same time asking to leave them alone. Other rodents heeded his request and got back to their businesses while actively discussing this bright episode which wouldn't be forgotten for quite some time.

When Chip was sure they weren't a center of attention anymore, Chip took Mildred by her hand and, inspired by her not taking it away, began. Or rather, went on.

"Forgive me, Mildred. You are right, I behaved like a scoundrel. I― Well, after everything you told me I had no right to question your sincerity. I just… Please, understand me correctly; nobody let his hair down in front of me before, so… Frankly speaking, I'm not used to it. In my job you have to question everything, to apprehend a stab in the back, and sometimes it shows in such an unexpected and improper way. Forgive me if you can. Please."

Mildred turned to him, grabbed his paw with both hands and looked right into his eyes. This time Chip didn't look away albeit feeling very ashamed of looking at her now. Just like in the park when he covered his eyes with fists wishing frankly the earth could swallow him up so that his presence would no longer pollute the world Gadget was living in…

_So many coincidences…_

"Chip…"

_Thank God she didn't call me 'mister'…_

"You know, Chip, it's me who must apologize for impulsion and― and rudeness. It's just that there are some things, some topics I just can't discuss impartially. I hope you understand."

"I do," Chip nodded. "And I'm sure," he added, covering her hands with his left paw, "that every living person has such topic."

"Yes, maybe. And for me, right now at least, it's Mr. Harold's health. You are absolutely right, he isn't a relative of mine. But at the same time he resembles my grandpa for me, sometimes too close, way too close…"

_Gosh, that's it! The truck with medicine…_

"The hospital Mr. Harold created gave my life a new reason. That's why it hurts badly to watch him passing. He _is_ passing, no matter how hard we try to push this thought away. Like my grandpa passed… He did so much, helped so many, and I'm sure he would have help many and many more. Just like Mr. Bucksup… It's good he has a young wife who will carry on his case with the same diligence and dedication. I very much hope so, because the cause of such titans as Mr. Harold must go on… Must…"

"Mildred, remember I told you that you and Mrs. Bucksup had much in common?"

"Yes, I remember. I remember it well."

"There is one more thing that makes you even closer. Both of you are worthy successors of the titans. She's Mr. Harold's, you ― your grandpa's."

"Oh, Chip, please, I'm no match to my grandpa…"

"Trust me, you are a very good granddaughter. I'm sure he would be proud of you."

The deeply moved nurse sobbed and blotted the tears with her fingers. Chip kept holding her hand, his glare fixed at her face. His eyes were moist, too, but something kept him from taking his hand off even for a second. So he just blinked rapidly to make the tears dry up faster.

"Thank you, Chip…" Mildred whispered. "You know, you are… you are very good chipmunk…. Kind, patient and able to listen to others…"

_Unfortunately, not always… Far from always…_

"That's why I— confided in you. I've never told anyone about this before, even Mr. Harold and Dr. Stone during interview. Didn't want to sound like hysteric, you know. They didn't ask me about my grandpa at all, so… And you— you even remembered about his fondness of Sureluck Jones, and I… Excuse me for being harsh…"

---

"_Why— why is— why is this? Why are you doing all this?"_

"_Wmidunno, Chip. You asked me to."_

---

Once again everything is simple. Too simple.

Perry Nutson told her grandpa the story of Harold and Barbara Bucksup because he trusted his wisdom and decency and knew he wouldn't talk scandal. Old chipmunk kept his word and told nobody but the closest and the dearest person in this world — his granddaughter. Not to pull them to pieces, though, but to teach her the intricacies of life. Now Mildred told him. Because he asked her to, and because she trusted him like she trusted her own self…

Chip looked at the book of detective stories still lying on his laps and shook his head. "I'm indeed a layman compared to Sureluck Jones," he thought. Sometimes he could uncover an intricate plot and find out the truth, like in this caviar case, for instance, when he was able to puzzle out a full picture out of seemingly unrelated facts and foil Fat Cat's crime. But when the case concerned feelings, his radar, calibrated to search for double and triple purport, failed. Or rather, started raising false alarms from the slightest sneeze, like some too sensible car security system. He surely knew how to use it to fight the crime, but he still needed to learn the most important aspect of working with it — to turn it off when needed.

"You know, Chip…" Mildred said but Rescue Ranger suddenly gave a start and pressed his finger to his lips asking her to remain silent. Then he becked her to turn his wheelchair so that it faced the nearest column. When it was done, Chip slowly and quietly took out one of the crutches strapped to the seat and waved his hand. Mildred pushed the wheelchair and Chip flew past the column. Having skirted it Chip applied the brakes and poked the crutch right into the face of astonished male mouse with thick black hair protruding in all directions who wore grey orderly's uniform.

"What are you doing here?" Chipmunk asked strictly and lowered the crutch somewhat to let the stranger speak.

"I, uhm, that is…" the hospital worker mumbled. "There was… Alarm sounded, you see… So I, uhm, here…"

"Lie!" Chip exclaimed. "I saw you going behind this column shortly after we came here! It was almost three hours ago! What were you doing here?"

"What are you talking about?" the orderly asked. Now that the initial shock subsided, he slowly regained self-control. He also realized that his opponent was at least two times smaller and a cripple to boot, so he started talking louder and more confident. "Mind you, I had a very intensive shift, yeah! I can rest for an hour or two, can't I? The garage isn't your property, after all! It's not my fault that your shouting can be heard not only from behind the column but on the street!"

Chip lowered his crutch further. His instincts were telling him something was wrong here, but they failed him for so many times already making him see the foul play where there wasn't any, and Chip didn't want to rely solely on them. Still, this orderly seemed familiar to him although he couldn't recall why and it bothered him even more…

"Millie!" he called. The nurse was waiting for this signal and came up to them.

"Do you know him?" Chip inquired.

"Sure I do!" Mildred answered. "His name is Turkle; he's an orderly from our section."

Chip removed his crutch altogether. First, he believed her. Second, he remembered where he had seen this orderly. First time was on a day, or rather night when he was brought here. It was Turkle who came and asked his friends to leave because the visiting hours had long ended. Second time he saw him through his ward's window after Mildred left with his letter. Both times he appeared for a very short time and Chip was too preoccupied to take a good look at him. Nevertheless he recognized him now. Or rather, felt he'd seen this face somewhere already. But even this feeling is usually enough to determine where will you end up with respect to the verge between life and death. The realization of it brought back Chip's bygone confidence. His radar might require some calibration as Gadget would put it, but it still worked. That meant life…

"Careful with this guy, Millie! He seems raving to me!" the big mouse observed angrily. He recovered completely and stood with his hands crossed on his chest showing bumpy bicepses.

"Easy, Turkle! Mister Chip worried about me, that's all!" Mildred answered making Chip blush again. Basically, he wanted to check whether there was somebody lurking behind the column of it was him hearing things. But now, after her words, Chip had to admit she wasn't exaggerating too much…

Turkle grinned. "Wow, what a noble deed… Okay, lovebirds, excuse me, but it's time for me to go!" He turned around and headed to the hospital's entrance paying no attention to the effect his words had on the chipmunks. Both of them turned red and imitated feverish activity to cover their embarrassment. Mildred folded and refolded her handkerchief while Chip thoroughly shoved the crutch back into its pocket. When they were done with these important tasks, they looked at one another and after a short pause started laughing loudly.

"Oh, my hat!" Chip finally said wiping the tears of joy away. "Just think about it! I caught an orderly! On a crutch! Ha-ha-ha!"

Mildred joined in. "Yeah! I never saw Turkle so dismayed, ha-ha-ha! He's considered the strongest of them all, but now, ha-ha-ha, he was a pitiful sight!"

"Oh, he was very convincing! Ha-ha-ha!"

"And left without saying goodbye! Ha-ha-ha!"

"Ha-ha-ha… Almost, ha-ha-ha… Ahem…"

"Yes, almost…"

They fell silent again and just stood there looking at each other for a minute or so. Then Chip drove up to Mildred, touched her hand and said the words he felt obliged to tell her after everything happened between them and really, almost painfully wanted to tell her.

"You know, Mildred, you told me so much and made me see so many different things… I hope you wouldn't feel offended if I ask… May I call you 'Millie'?"

"Well," she smiled and shrugged, "taking into account that you already started…"

"Really?"

"Yes. You said, that is, yelled 'Forgive me, Millie!' And later, when I came from behind the column, you asked…"

"'Do you know him, Millie'?" Chip repeated his own question in unison with her. "You know, I didn't even notice…"

"But I noticed…" Millie answered.

At first glance it was a simple phrase. But in conjunction with facial expression, voice timbre and some totally unclassifiable intonation it made Chip's heart to beat so high it seemed its energy would be enough to take him along with wheelchair to the near-earth orbit minimum.

* 5 *

_December 11__th__, evening_

"Yes, come in! Oh, here you are! I expected you to come earlier."

"Sorry, the traumatology routine took too long…"

"Really? And I thought about the courtyard!"

"Don't know how it all happened. When he asked me I just… Somehow…"

"Drop it! Everything went perfect!"

"You… You saw…"

"Sure, along with a half of the garage!"

"Oh, darn! Here goes the reputation…"

"What are you talking about? Your expression was of show-biz caliber!"

"You sure? You know, boss, sometimes I think about it, too…"

"Enough of that. What's with the patient?"

"I think he's hooked. If only you saw…"

"First, I saw. Second, I mean _another_ patient."

"Oh, everything's under control there. The shift roster is suitable, the route is settled."

"Good. Don't fail me and yourself!"

"Everything will be alright, boss!"

"Okay, time for you to go. If anybody asks why I called you, tell him it's concerning San-Angeles."

"But I…"

"I know! It's just to be on the healthy side. That's all, go, go!"

* 6 *

_December 13__th_

"Congratulations, Millie! There are only twelve mistakes!"

"What?! No, I don't believe you! You are lying not to discourage me!"

"First, that would be very pedagogically incorrect on my behalf. Second, it's not needed! Here, see for yourself!"

Chip handed Mildred the paper. She tore it out of his paw and delved deeply into it. She counted mistakes marked by her curator and frowned, not really believing the result. She counted it again, than again and once more, and with each reiteration her face grew brighter and lips stretched wider. After fifth counting she beamed with joy so brightly it seemed the surrounding objects cast additional shadows.

"Golly… Golly! Golly!!!" Mildred bounced up and down on the bench from emotions overfilling her. "I did it!"

"Sure you did! Given your eagerness and diligence it couldn't have been otherwise!"

"No, Chip, the merit is entirely yours! You are a phenomenal teacher! I can't believe it! Just a few lessons — and already a perfect result!"

Chip frowned jokingly. "Well, in principle, a perfect result is ten mistakes or less. But this is the case when it's not 'for the whole two errors more', but 'for just two errors more'. Great job! You held up perfectly! I stewed well trying to distract you but you seemed to be behind some wall of stone!"

Mildred's amazement knew no bounds. "Chip, how do you know?"

Chip didn't quite get it. "What do you mean?"

"About the wall?"

"What about it?"

"I just… Wait… Oh, I see! It was just a metaphor, wasn't it? And I thought you read my thoughts…"

Chip wrinkled up his forehead trying to decipher it and laughed upon realizing.

"Yeah, that's interesting! You know, I was indeed going to tell you that the results would improve if you concentrate on something, imagine something that would allow you to get away from the world around you and unneeded thoughts. It should be something large, massive…"

"And I hit upon the idea by myself!"

Chip nodded. "Yes, you did it by yourself! Congratulations! Stone wall is a really good choice!"

Mildred laughed merrily at Chip's joke. He smiled, too, rejoicing over her natural joy and wondering at his own knack of finding the problem right out of the blue. Even see it in the most harmless things, like the events of yesterday's evening. Or more exactly feelings, because the evening was pretty uneventful, with only two Mildred's visits diluting the rut.

First time the nurse came soon after five. She apologized for not coming earlier explaining that her help was needed in the other section and gave him a letter from his friends. The moment she appeared Chip felt that some eerie sensation, a mix of anxiety and agonizing waiting, was gone. Even the stories about Sureluck Jones, which could always make him forget of just about any trouble, didn't help against it. That's why Rescue Ranger was happy with this regained tranquility but at the same time alarmed with this disturbing observation. Even then, in June, when he was waiting for Gadget and Dale to return, the reading absorbed him completely, and now… Then again, in June his friends were still in the city and not in the other hemisphere.

_Yes, that would account for it!_ Chip decided and as soon as Mildred left he impatiently tore an envelope with long awaited letter open.

Just as he expected, the letter began with the answers to his question. The flight went smoothly because at last they had time to sleep their fill. Even Dale nestled down after getting the better of a slight stomach disorder. The traffic jams were awful, but the driver of the mini-bus on the roof of which they were traveling knew the city perfectly and drove through some backstreets saving two hours at the very least. Monty paid the tips himself, but happened to overestimate the inflation rate. That didn't keep him from tasting the Dutch cheese he found on the hotel's kitchen, though. As for the camera, it worked as it should have apart from the first several shots which Gadget accidentally made while fighting with the flash bulb's jammed binding. Though muddled and surrealistic, these shots turned out interesting enough to be worth developing and printing out.

These general words were followed by blocks written by each of the Rangers individually. Dale lamented for going from one dusty and noisy city into another one no less dusty and noisy. It was apparent from his hasty handwriting that he was burning with impatience waiting for the journey inland towards adventures and mysteries. Monterey Jack, aggrieved with further reduction of their travel time, also wished to proceed along the route as fast as possible. Zipper, on the other hand, liked Jakarta very much. Especially city's numerous restaurants, on the backyards of which you could always find leftovers of not only Indonesian but other world's cuisines as well.

Gadget, as usual, was interested in completely different things, and Chip couldn't refrain from smiling while reading her message. Three sheets of paper densely covered with writings contained complete information about motorikshas design, city planning principles, new highways projects and comparative analysis of ancient and colonial architecture with buildings proportions formulas on the margins proving they were indeed optimal for the island with volcanic origin. Chip kept reading and rereading these geometrically ideal paragraphs, as if produced by typographic press, which radiated so much warmth they seemed to have been burnt out by the rays of hot Javanese sun itself. The strange uneasiness subsided and Chip felt himself rocked by azure waves of the tropical ocean…

In this very state he was found by Mildred returning with his supper. Awestruck by his concentration skills once again, she wished him a nice meal and left to see other patients. Chip placed the envelope with the letter into the bed-side table and started eating, when suddenly the sense of anxiety returned.

_The radar must be pinking again…_ chipmunk thought while chewing food and wincing at the excess of salt. For the third time in a row his supper was oversalted which was even amusing given that breakfasts and dinners were normal while supper seemed cooked by someone else…

Maybe that's the reason?!

Chip froze with open mouth and right hand holding fork in midair. He browsed mentally through all poisons he had read about but couldn't remember anything which tasted like cooking salt. Sure, the classic detective novels can't be considered a complete guide to poisonous substances, but still…

_Come on! If it was indeed some kind of deadly poison you would have been dead long ago! You are making a mountain out of a molehill! Or rather, a grain of salt!_

Okay, suppose it's not a poisoning attempt. Why then all the suppers tasted like they were made by different cooks?

"_Remember what Millie said…"_

_Well, she said many things these days…_

"_Remember! You agreed to teach her to concentrate, and she said…"_

---

"_I have no idea. My today's shift has almost ended... How about tomorrow?"_

---

Sure! Shift! Once again everything is pretty simple if you don't chase your own shadow, janitors and non-existent killer cooks.

Chip gave a loud sigh of relief and sent another, already cold piece into his mouth. Each passing day brought more and more proofs that he badly needed a rest. Staying in the hospital isn't the best one, but it would do. Every crime fighter needs some time when he doesn't have to think of menacers' schemes, worry about life and health of his friends and constantly wait for a blow from around the corner…

The dragging feeling stayed, though. But now, with 'the case of sloppy cook' successfully solved, it was clearly not caused by probable appearance of some enemy unknown. Actually, its source was quite the opposite. It was anxious waiting to see someone again…

But who?

_My friends, obviously! And, quite understandably, Gadget!_

Chip put a fork aside and took out the letter from Jakarta again. He read it once more, paying special attention to the three pages written by the beautiful mouse. They parted just three days ago but he already missed her with his heart and soul. And he won't see her for twelve more days. THAT was scary…

Never mind! He knew it would be like that when he asked her to go, just like he knew that everything would be alright. His friends will be back by Christmas and they will be together once again. Dale will start sharing his impressions and memories of beaches, jungles and volcanoes. Monty will tell some long and very edifying story. And Gadget… Gadget, her eyes shining bright with emotions, will report her findings and tests results and her hypotheses, every single one of which will undoubtedly prove right…

_I need to calm down,_ Chip said to himself returning to his meal. _If I continue to feel that nervous, by the time of their return I will turn into a grey-haired old chipmunk with eyes red from insomnia, who stirs and shakes from the faintest of sounds and a flickering of lamp._

But neither this self-admonishment, nor smoldering discontent of hospital cook's qualification could overshadow the feeling whose obtrusiveness was already intimidating. This must have been the way that boy, Bobby, felt when he had to part with his favorite ship even for a minute…

_But while with Bobby and his toy everything is clear, what on Ear__th do I miss?_

"'_What'? Or, maybe, 'who'?"_

_Strange… I'm sure I felt better as soon as I read the letter from my friends! Moreover, I felt better from the very first look at it!_

"_At __'it'?"_

_And what else? There was nothing more…_

"_Oh yeah, the magic letter which got out of the mail box and came to your ward all by itself…"_

_No, surely not by itself! It was brought by…_

Chip almost choked. His throat became dry like Mohave Desert at noon and he had to empty his cup to be able to swallow the food. This task completed, Chip tried to calm down and analyze all available facts in an unbiased and rational way. It wasn't easy as his train of thought moved wildly from one event to another. From conversation in the ward to dialog in the garage, from his feelings when he yelled "Forgive me, Millie!" to the current sensation of loneliness and missing, absence of something important, lack of something totally essential…

What is this?

There are plenty of variants, each one finer than another…

_Okay, let's approach it from the other side and try to answer a symmetrical question: what is this NOT?_

It wasn't what he felt towards Gadget. Take their first meeting, for example. There, in the bomber, when she took off her helmet and turn to face him and Dale, he was stunned. For an indefinite amount of time he ceased to exist, to feel his own body and the ground beneath his legs. He saw nothing but her smile and her sky blue eyes shining on her gentle face framed with sunny hair. He heard nothing but her voice and her name repeating over and over…

His meeting with Mildred was totally different. He didn't lose the ability to speak, didn't see any heavenly light apart from flashes of morning light on the window glass…

On the other hand, he never apologized to Gadget yelling about the HQ. And never felt something like this while she was away…

Because in truth he felt even worse.

At the beginning of June, when Gadget was spending days and nights in her workshop, physically she was very close, just behind the wall, while emotionally she was on another continent, in another hemisphere if not on the moon. She rejected all offers to go out somewhere alleging it with need to return to work and fantastic abilities their team would gain. There was nothing left to him but to nod silently and leave on his own.

That's why the proposition to go to the concert was so unexpected and so amazing. Just like every other joint outings and working together in the workshop and observatory. Like this summer as a whole, the warmest in his life and not just because of the global warming…

---

"_And I thought you have got used to it already. They say one gets quickly accustomed to the good things."_

"_Maybe. But as for me…"_

---

That's it!

That's what he was missing! Something that no detective stories, no food (even the tastiest, not to mention oversalted) and no memories (even the brightest and the dearest) could really replace.

Personal and live communication. He has got so used to it already that solitude, previously Chip's main source of tranquility and an opportunity to gather his thoughts, to sort the events of the past, put them on their respective shelves and make the plans for future, now brought depression with it. He didn't want to make plans. He sought relaxedness and ease when you don't need to be afraid of something, when the emotions pour over the edge and the thought can't keep pace with the actions.

For the first time in his life Chip wanted not methodicalness and precision but spontaneity and suddenness which Dale embodied. Usually his friend's antics made Chip feel nothing but dull irritation, now he realized how much he missed them. Not as an opportunity to release the steam of negative emotions accumulated after wearisome work but as a source of inspiration and desire to live further, seeing and knowing that there is still enough joy and happiness in this world to make it worth fighting for…

_That's why I behave this way with her! Because she too gives me the opportunity to feel it! And I like it very much…!_

"_Is it the only reason?"_

Chip hemmed and ate another forkload of food. It wasn't the only reason. In addition to everything mentioned above, Millie provided him an opportunity to feel himself a detective who tries to build an entire picture from small separate pieces. He hasn't been too successful as of yet, and it was mostly she tearing the cover of mystery away. But as Gadget put it, this game can be played by two. He just needs to stop shying from each and every shadow and asking ungrounded and thus dangerous questions. No, he needs to choose a question, answer to which would bring them not pain but joy. He would find pleasure in searching for answer. She would be glad that he found the answer. Or, maybe, that he just asked this question…

Just one small thing was lacking. To find this question.

_Once again I'm searching for the question…_ Chip noted but immediately pulled himself up._ No! This time it's different! Totally different!_

Reaching this silent consensus with his own self, Chip started searching for question and answer with his inherent scrupulousness. Yesterday in the evening the search was finished. Upon completing this task Chip felt such emotional uprising that swallowed the oversalted supper without a pucker and had a hard time waiting for their already common training session to finish…

"…Well, Chip, your words about the wall were really good! You don't lack a sense of humor!" Mildred said.

"You won't believe it, but my friend Dale considers me the epitome of boredom!"

Millie frowned in disbelief. "You're joking, right?"

"This time I am not."

"It can't be, Chip! Can your friend be so wrong about you?"

_Well, if even I understand myself from the third attempt on average…_

"Who knows…? But for the sake of fairness, I must admit I'm the embodiment of dullness as compared to him!"

"Even so?" Millie raised her eyebrows which made her grey eyes larger and more expressive. "In this case he must be a phenomenal contriver!"

"Yes, you'd—" Chip began but stopped abruptly as if gagged short by some invisible hand.

"What would I say?" nurse asked, finishing his phrase in her own way.

"Ah, nothing…" chipmunk answered, wondering at the sudden desire to fall silent without finishing the phrase. Seemingly ingenuous phrase he heard from his friends many times. Dale used it when bragging about the superheroes he met on the comic books' pages; Monterey Jack — when speaking about his countless acquaintances he met on the winding roads of his journeys; Gadget — when telling about her father. Chip used it many times, too, but now he felt like colliding with some unmovable object at full speed which threshed the air out of him and didn't let him say the words "…have liked him."

Millie didn't really believe him. "No, Chip, I see something bothers you! What happened?"

"Nothing, Millie, it's just…" Chip looked at her, grinning cunningly. "By the way, I have a little surprise for you!"

Mildred livened up instantly. "Really?! I love surprises! What will it be?"

"It will be a question…" Chip said, still grinning. He sustained a long pause and went on, drawling the words in scenic manner. "With a trick…"

"Please, Chip, stop this tormenting!" Mildred fidgeted on the bench impatiently, tapping her little fists against her hips. "You're eating my heart out!"

"You think so?"

"I'm positive! Come on, ask it!"

"But first promise you'll answer honestly!"

"I promise, I promise!"

"I believe you. But don't rush with your answer. Think the question through, analyze it…"

"Stop taunting me, Chip!"

Chipmunk opened his mouth and Millie became all ears. Rescue Ranger sat there for some time without a movement, then closed his mouth and said a-matter-of-factly.

"You know, I thought about it and decided that a question like this is best asked after dinner…"

"WHAT?!" The nurse yelled. She seized Chip's hand and shook him violently causing the wheels of his wheelchair to creak against the concrete floor. "What dinner?! I won't hold that long! Say it now or else…"

"Or else what?"

"Or else… Or else I'll sign you up for every kind of analysis made in this hospital!"

"You can do that?"

"I can everything!"

"Okay, I give up!" Chip raised his hands as a sign of complete concession. "The question is… Are you ready?"

"Ready, ready!"

"Holding tight?"

"Tight!" Millie nodded and gripped the edge of the bench so strongly that her white knuckles became visible through the fur.

"Okay, you were warned! Here is the question: will the skills acquired during our intensive courses help you to fight the noise from the construction site across the street from your home?"

"Sure, Chip! Besides, this noise was a great training… STOP! But— But how did you know about the construction site across the street?"

"Well, the whole city knows about the new office complex built at Harris-street, 1495, so I thought…"

"Wait… Wait…" the nurse mumbled. She started to understand the sense of a trick contained in Chip's question. "You're telling me that you know where… where I live?"

Chip nodded. "Yes, I'm telling you exactly that. Harris Street, 1500."

It took some time for Mildred to regain her gift of speech again.

"But… But… But how? You couldn't get it in personnel department, they have very strict rules about that… Who spilled the beans?"

"No one. I found it out myself."

"Amazing… But how? I didn't say anything…"

"Quite the contrary, Millie. You said very much."

"I hope you understand that I won't leave you alone until you explain EVERYTHING?"

"I do."

"I'm listening."

"Carefully?"

"Very…"

"Let's get to business then!" Chip cleared his throat and rolled up the sleeves of a hospital pajamas to show that there was nothing hidden in them. "As you can see, no aces in my sleeves, no cheating and no sleight of paw. Nothing but mind and logic…"

"Could you please cut the introduction?"

"Patience, Millie! Patience and self-control! Remember what I taught you?"

"Yes, Chip, but this goes all the limits!"

"Consider it a final exam, after which you'll get a diploma with distinction and graduate from the courses of endurance…"

"One more word," Mildred said insinuatingly, gently taking Chip's shirt lapel, "and I'll ask Turkle to accompany you on your walks for the rest of your staying here. Consider it—"

"NO! DON'T DO THIS!" Chip grabbed Millie's hand. She gave a start, then laughed at this masterfully imitated fright. Chip smiled, too, but not very confidently because he felt that his fear was not as pretended as the nurse imagined.

"Then stop beating about the bush!"

"Okay, okay, you've got me! So, as I've said, you told me very much, even if incidentally and indeliberately. First, you live at the medicine warehouse. Old medicine warehouse, because your grandpa spent his entire life there. There aren't many old medicine warehouses in the city, especially if you cross out all sea-port ones…"

"Why did you cross out all sea-port ones?"

"Because you said you met trucks with medicines. Trucks, not ships or containers. Which means this warehouse must be located in the city."

"Yes, you are right. Such a far-reaching conclusion from a single phrase, come to think of it… Okay, go on!"

"Here you are. When you told me how you got a job here, you said 'I caught a bus and went here'. Which means that there exists a bus service running past both your home and the Central City Hospital…"

"Well, that's quite a long shot! Who knows how many buses I could have needed to change on the way here…"

"Right," Chip agreed. "But this is exactly the case when it's better not to overcomplex everything beforehand and look where the shortest path takes you. There were two more moments to consider. First, I was sure that had you really came here from the other end of the city, you'd have mentioned it somehow, maybe complained about a large number of transfers or long waiting for a suitable transport… In short, something like that. Second, you came here among the first, and the news here have tendency to spread like a circles on the water, so to arrive among the first you needed to hear the news among the first."

"Maybe. But that doesn't explain…"

"No, it doesn't. But taken in conjunction with a bus route only two of which pass through Portero Avenue and the fact that your warehouse is built of red bricks…"

Mildred's eyes widened to the size of plates.

"How do you know THIS?!"

"This was almost the easiest. I'll show you, just sit still…"

"What for…?" With a corner of her eye Millie watched Chip's hand slowly moving towards her face. She blushed heavily when his fingers started gently pinching the fur on her cheek. "Chip, what— What are you doing…?"

"This," Rescue Ranger said showing her his hand with fine red dust covering his fingertips.

"Oh, I see," Mildred shook her head contritely. "It stays no matter how I wash myself, how closely study my face in the mirror…"

"In yellow light this dust is almost indistinguishable from your fur," Chip explained. "But here," he pointed his finger into the air, "the light is white and it's seen much better."

"So maybe I should tidy myself up here?"

"You look great without it. Trust me."

"Thanks, but we seem to have digressed…"

"Yes, thanks. So, by combining the bus route, not very long distance and red bricks I came to a conclusion that you must live in an old pre-war warehouse on Harris Street. First, it's old enough. Second, it's made of red bricks. Third, it's passed by 111th bus line going from Financial District to Portero Hill. Fourth, there's a huge construction going on right in front of it, and there were numerous articles in the human press concerning its danger for the nearby buildings which accounts for the brick dust crumbling. That's it."

"No, Chip, it isn't. You forgot apartment number. You don't think I can live in such a big warehouse alone, do you?"

"Well, to tell the truth, I hoped you'll tell me it yourself."

Millie grinned. "I don't think so. After all, just like any girl, I should have at least a bit of mystery, right? You like mysteries, Chip. Get to work. But don't ask in personnel department, okay? No cheating!"

For the Rescue Ranger her terms looked fair. "Okay, no cheating! Any more wishes? Can I investigate something else for you?"

"Not yet, Chip," Mildred looked right into his eyes. "But, although your explanation was complete, I still have questions. One question. May I?"

"Go ahead."

"There was a reason for your interest, am I right?"

"Right."

"Would you mind explaining it?"

"It's simple. The point, dear Mildred Munkched, is that I'm used to knowing the addresses of my friends. And considering that their number is fairly low…"

"Oh, come on! I can't believe hearing it from the leader of the Rescue Rangers who became living legends long time ago! Even I know lots of people despite my secluded way of life!"

"I don't doubt it for a second, Millie," Chip said touching her elbow. "But take Turkle for example. You know him well enough to address freely like you did the day before yesterday. But I think you don't really regard Turkle as your friend."

"No."

"That's it, Millie. And I—" Chip averted his eyes for a second. "I don't know if I can call you my friend but… but want it very much. That is, personally I consider you my friend. But whether you consider me a friend is another question…"

"Yes, Chip, I do…" Millie said quietly cupping his palm with her hands. Chip covered her fingers with his left paw, met her glance, and the world around them receded into the background as though covered with semi-transparent mist with passing doctors and patients being no more than blurred white and blue images…

"…LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE! ARE YOU BLIND OR WHAT?!"

Chip and Mildred shook and looked in the direction of a shout. Two orderlies, Turkle and a rat whom Chip didn't know, stood over a chipmunk-janitor lying on the floor surrounded by three garbage bags. One of the bags tore and now its contents covered the ground and pants of black-haired mouse. Turkle was frenzily brushing his clothes off while swearing at the antihero of the occasion.

"You are of no use at all, Wash-It! You don't just clean it up badly but make a mess yourself and make others dirty! Stand up and clear it all or I'll make you to eat it!"

Turkle grabbed the puny mumbling chipmunk by his collar and lifted above the ground. The janitor twitched.

"L-let me g-go…" he uttered, his voice hoarse and constrained.

"You won't like it when I do it!" the orderly shouted and suddenly screamed of sudden pain piercing his left hand. He turned his enraged glare to face the new enemy but crashed into the concrete gaze of Mildred claw holding his elbow.

"Let him go, Turkle!" she ordered.

"That's not your business, Millie!" Turkle's zeal subsided slightly but he was still full of primal rage. "Did you see what this lunatic did? Me and Garding standing here talking and he runs into us along with all the refuse! Because of him we'll have to order a new uniform! I—"

"Put him down on the ground!" Millie repeated in the same tone, unaffected by Turkle's threatening tirade.

"It-t's ok-kay, N-nurse M-mildred…" the janitor, still hanging in the air, got himself heard. "It w-was m-my f-fault…"

"You hear, Millie? He tells it himself…" Turkle observed and gave a start when something hard stuck into his back. He looked around and saw it was a crutch held by already painfully familiar cripple.

"Do what you're told!" Chip ordered. "Now!"

Turkle grinned mischievously. "As you wish!" he said and lowered his victim with such a force that chipmunk-stutterer lost his balance, made a few steps backwards and fell to the floor.

"You rascal!" Mildred shouted pushing Turkle's hand away and running up to the janitor.

"It was VERY wrong move, Turkle…" Chip said through his teeth simultaneously looking at him and Mildred bending over the fallen chipmunk.

Turkle laughed and, like the last time, crossed his hands on his chest to demonstrate both his confidence and physical strength. "Oh yeah? And will you do to me, the heroic patient?"

"You'll be very surprised."

"Come on, Mr. Detective, show me!"

"Come here, dirty scarecrow!"

Turkle roared and stepped towards unruffled Rescue Ranger but then the second orderly felt the situation was going out of hand and wedged between them.

"Stop it, Turkle! We don't need problems!"

"Go away, Garding! Don't interfere!"

This time Chip backed his opponent up. "Yes, Garding, don't stop him! Let him try to…"

"ENOUGH!" Mildred shouted at the chipmunk and a mouse ready to fight. "CALM DOWN, EVERYONE! Chip, put your crutch away! Garding, make Turkle leave!"

Chip slowly and reluctantly lowered his improvised weapon and Turkle unclenched his fists. Mildred and Garding sighed in relief.

"Come, Turkle, we are late already…" the rat pulled his still hard and angry breathing colleague by his sleeve. Turkle looked at frowned Chip, then at Millie and defeated janitor. Finally his lips cracked in a forced smile.

"Yeah, Garding, you are right. Let's go so they can clean the mess!"

He kicked the garbage bags and went away without looking back. Garding apologized to everybody and followed. When Chip saw Turkle was far enough, he shoved the crutch behind the seat noting that he's getting used to unsheathe it like a sword. _Maybe I should move the holders to the sides, closer to arms…_ he wondered while driving around the garbage heap and approaching Millie and the janitor.

"Are you alright, Washy? Did he hurt you?" nurse asked examining her ward. He wasn't goggling in terror at his sides and smiled with gratitude and happiness. But unlike Dale's smile which looked natural, his was so hypertrophied it rather frightened then gladdened.

"N-no, N-nur-rse Mil-ldred, ev-verything is al-lright!"

"Then get up before you caught a cold!"

Raising Washy up, Mildred helped him to shake the dust off. That is, she shook the dust off by herself because the janitor stood still watching after her movements with keen but at the same time blank look which made his smile look even more like some cardboard mask glued to the real face.

"Th-thanks, Nurse M-mildred. You are s-so k-kind and b-brave…"

Chip was convulsed with this phantasmagorical combination of too joyful smile, too thankful gaze and sugary stuttering voice. And of something else, which had nothing to do with Washy's look and manner of speech but with Chip's own feeling of quite different nature…

"It's nothing, Washy! I wouldn't have done it without Mister Chip's help! Oh, by the way, Chip, meet Washy!"

"Hello!" Rescue Ranger greeted another chipmunk driving up to him and holding his palm out for a handshake. The janitor turned to him and Chip was startled with the changes in his look. The right half of Washy's mouth moved up, cheeks fell down, eyes died out and his face as a whole assumed some strange equally puzzled and disgusted expression. He didn't moved and just stood there silently looking at Chip's hand as though seeing this gesture for the first time in his life.

To tell the truth, Chip wouldn't be too surprised to know that it was indeed so.

"Ehm, Washy, let me help you to clean everything up!" Millie exclaimed feeling that the scene lasted for too long. Washy instantly livened, fetched the working gloves from his back pocket and run to his bags paying no attention to Chip still holding his arm. Chip moved his fingers and put his hand on his knee feeling uneasy both because of rejected handshake and his own inability to help Mildred and Washy to collect the scattered garbage into a new bag. Washy happened to possess a whole roll of them. It was logical, after all. Gadget carries glass cutter, Dale — pocketfuls of rubbish and hospital janitor — a bunch of refuse bags…

"Th-thanks ag-gain, Nur-rse M-mildred!" thanked Washy when everything was cleared up. He waved his hand in dirty glove at them and went to the far end of the garage to garbage containers, muttering something to himself.

"He is strange…" Chip observed stopping his wheelchair by Mildred's side. She didn't look at him, proceeding to follow the janitor with her eyes.

"Who, Washy? Yes, he is… There is a syndrome, I don't remember exactly… In short, he isn't quite…"

"…normal?"

The nurse grew angry. "No, Chip! He is normal! He's just… different!"

"Okay, look, I'm sorry…"

"It's hard enough for him already," Mildred continued having ignored his words, "but this Turkle and other orderlies and nursemen… They taunt him, throw garbage on the floor he's just cleaned, and overturn a water bucket… They call him 'Wash-It' and laugh at their own 'unintended pun'! Blockheads…"

"Okay, Millie, I'm sorry! I didn't mean insult…"

"Never mind, Chip. I know it's hard to understand at once. He's not guilty to have been born like that, after all. Too bad there are many who have… different opinion on the matter. Well, it's always easier to call somebody crazy instead of trying to understand him…"

"Yes, sure…" Chip muttered. Under different circumstances he would have asked Mildred how on earth someone like Washy could ever get the job here, but somehow he didn't really want to talk or hear about him anymore. The question was there, though, and Millie, as if reading his thoughts, answered it.

"Well, it could be worse. At least he's got a job here which allows him to survive… He's got lucky, perhaps for the first and only time in his life. His mother died when he was only a child, and his father repudiated him. So he lived here, alone…"

_Very fitting…_ Chip couldn't help but think, not knowing where this cruelty came from.

Millie went on. "At first he was afraid of the SCH, but then got used to us and even sneaked to our kitchen looking for food, scaring a young nurse. She called for help but they couldn't catch him. He just vanished. Nothing strange, he knows the surroundings like nobody else.

"After a while he came back again, driven by curiosity and hunger, and stumbled upon no one else but Dr. Stone who invited him into his cabinet for a talk. When Washy came out, he was a full-time janitor. Many thought it was Dr. Stone's mistake, but Washy proved being a very good worker. He may know little, but what little he knows he does very diligently. It's good Washy found his place here…"

_Okay, okay, I got it…_ Chip said to himself, wincing each time Mildred pronounced the janitor's name. _Why keep talking of him? Aren't there any different topics…?_

"_What happened? Do you have problems with it?"_

_No! No problems!_

"_It's obvious…"_

_Rather, preposterous! To be jealous of Millie's attention to some janitor with a strange __syndrome…_

"_What did you say?"_

_What… Wait a second… What was that…?_

"Chip? What happened?"

"Nothing, Millie, nothing… It's getting cold out here, don't you think?"

"No, I wouldn't say so… Wait, let me…" Millie passed her paw over Chip's back. "Gosh, you sweated through! Let's go inside before you get cold! You need to change immediately!"

Chip just nodded and sat in silence all the way back to his ward.

It was indeed _it_. That feeling. The one he experienced every time Dale offered Gadget lemonade or cake. The one which overwhelmed him during the concert when Gadget grabbed Dale's hand to keep him from going dancing on the edge of the ceiling beam. The one which pierced him like a dart five days ago when Dale said in passing "Me and Gadget will be waiting for you!" The one he felt each time somebody else managed to attract the beautiful mouse's attention.

Now he felt it towards Millie.

He was jealous of her.


	5. Chapter 5 Fight Shift

**Chapter**** 5**

**Fight Shift**

*** 1 ***

_December 13__th__, evening — December 14__th__, night_

It was hard to believe. Impossible to believe. He simply refused to believe it.

But the facts spoke for themselves. And no matter how hard Chip tried to force himself to pay no attention to them and push them to the farthest shelf into the folder labeled "Unimportant" it was in vain. Not only because the facts are stubborn things, but also because this time he had to fight not so much them as another, much tougher opponent — his own nature. With he himself who got used to rely upon facts and now couldn't let himself to shut his eyes to them.

Time and again he mentally shoved an imaginary pile of documentary witnesses into a folder, too small to contain them all, laced it up somehow and pushed into the shelving. But every time something went wrong. Either lace broke in two or folder itself tore apart or he himself, unable to cope with the pressure, fetched it out and spread the sheets over the table trying to place them in order which would provide him with another answer. An answer which would at least somehow differ from the one lying on the surface and slowly growing from a single atom of just one of thousands possibilities into enormous sphere which consumed the rest of the options. But this was case when switching the items couldn't net a different sum no matter how you twist it.

Nothing helped, not even reading or writing. Reading couldn't help, because, his detective genius notwithstanding, Sureluck Jones was a poor advisor in the intimate questions because such feelings were alien to him. So Chip had to seek salvation elsewhere.

He tried to find it in the Horizon Hotel located in Bandung, the capital of Western Java province, where his friends were to arrive tomorrow in the afternoon local time or today in the evening Javanese time (it was morning of December 14th there already). This was the address Chip wrote on the envelope which had to wait for its letter till the very evening. This time Chip's progress was even slower than the previous time. He barely managed to squeeze out each new word, and by the time the paragraph was finished Chip couldn't remember exactly what it started with and had to reread his previous writings several times.

There was an utter chaos in his head and even thinking of a stone wall didn't help much. Well, it helped, certainly. But when you constantly think of a stone wall it's hard to write a hearty letter. The first two variants Chip sent to a trash bin, that it, bedside table's lower shelf. Only the third attempt ended in something which you could send to the closest and the dearest friends on earth not fearing that they would feel offended or, worse than that, decide that something was wrong with you and come back here abandoning their vacation and all the projects.

When the envelope was finally sealed Chip felt so exhausted as though he spent a whole day assembling the ARK. The only way to restore good spirits he knew was Gadget's magic coffee, but he had no hopes finding it in the hospital where the cooks don't know how much salt to put in the meal…

"Your supper, Chip!"

"Thanks, Millie…!"

"Are you all right? Do you need something?"

"Never mind. Just got tired, that's all…"

Chip picked at the food some but there were no signs of appetite and he put the tray on the table, taking only a slice of bread. Luckily for him it was baked elsewhere and contained right amount of salt. That's why Chip could eat it without fear of falling victim of local cooks and peacefully meditate on the problems of his own.

Okay, not so peacefully.

For the first time in quite a while Chip was worried not about the next rescue mission or his friends' safety but his own feelings. Not unknown but very, even too familiar, but still alarming. These feelings came along with the uncertainty and disturbance of his emotional balance. He fought hard for it, achieved it through suffering and has lived in it peacefully for almost half a year. Now it was crumbling under pressure of a growing snowball of emotions, contradictions, compulsive thoughts and, the worst of it all, truth. Truth which you can't escape by hiding under the checkered plaid or running away into the world created by your favorite author. Only by facing, realizing and bearing it the tranquility could be regained. There was no other way…

"What if rewind it all back to the morning of the 9th? Return to strictly formal relations between a patient and a nurse on duty? Call each other 'Mister Chip' and 'Nurse Mildred' once again? Nothing personal, no mutual commitments, no insults…"

Not a bad variant. Suitable, for him at least…

But hardly suitable for Millie.

Then again, how would he explain it to her after everything they went through and said to each other? How would he persuade her if he isn't so sure himself?

Well, there was a way to avoid explanations at all. After all, Millie isn't the only nurse in this section. He could always ask Dr. Stone or Dr. Spivey to assign someone else to him. And if it wasn't enough, make them reassign her to another section. Taking into account the merits of his team and Gadget in particular, they would certainly meet his wishes. Simple and effective.

But totally wrong. Because…

---

"_I don't know if I can call you my friend but… but want it very much. That is, personally I consider you my friend. But whether you consider me a friend is another question…"_

"_Yes, Chip, I do…"_

---

…YOU DON'T DO THIS TO YOUR FRIENDS!

You just don't do this. It would be nasty, foul and mean. She trusted him, regarded him as a tactful soul able to understand, support and console, capable of the deed for her. Yes, the deed. To apologize in the open, where all could see (and saw) is the deed. Many people can't bring themselves to do something like that afraid of looking weak, stupid and ridiculous. Chip knew these fears like no one else, and still he did it. He overcame himself because he knew that something important was at stake, something more precious than cold formal relationships, the return to which would mean that everything was for nothing. And that Mildred mistook him for someone else who Chip wasn't and would never become no matter how hard he tried. That all of it was a game, pretense, mask of noble champion hiding the weak and spineless person. Who would run at the very first sign of something unknown instead of overcoming his fears and dealing with it. Who would willingly sacrifice the feelings of others in order to get back to his castle, familiar and serene, where everything works according to the order set once and for all, and even after changes remains the same…

_Comes the morning and the headlights fade in rain_

_Hundred thousand changes...everything's the same_

Yes, there was a reason why this song impressed him so much at the concert. Back then, however, Chip couldn't even imagine how perfectly it reflected not only his life but also his character along with seemingly impossible combination of thirst for adventures and new impressions with subconscious desire to change nothing at all. On the one hand, this unity of opposites wasn't really unique. For example, Gadget's nature neatly combined tenderness with supermurine and even superhuman strength, vulnerability ― with spirit firm as steel. But if in Gadget's character this qualities supplemented each other making her, as Charlie Cheddar aptly remarked, "a delicate rose" who brought happiness to those around, in Chip they formed some highly explosive mixture which, upon reaching the critical mass, could cause no end of trouble.

Take his refusal to assist the swallow named Midge to reach Capistrano. At that time he was dying of boredom and was ready to go searching for the ships disappeared inside the Bermuda Triangle, and Midge's problem seemed too small for him being used to fight real criminals. As a result, she and the rest of the team ended up crying their hearts out. And it wasn't the only time…

"Tammy…" Chip muttered. No one else would be able to hear it for his mouth was full of bread at the moment, but it didn't matter. For Chip this name sounded like it was shouted right into his ear.

When did he meet her for the last time? A year ago, maybe… Sure! Exactly on last Christmas. Very long ago. Before the airliner, the concert and the unforgettable picnic with Gadget. You can say it was in the previous life…

They seldom met and now, after she had become an actress and moved to San-Angeles, they exchanged occasional letters, seeing each other only during big holidays when they finally had time and opportunity to speak of the recent developments. Chip usually didn't talk much, not wanting to turn the holiday evening into a criminal column. So he listened for the most part. And Tammy did have what to tell.

Her career was tough at first, no matter how hard she tried. Turned out, that was the main reason for it, because she tried to follow the examples of famous actresses of the past too close and it was good if the result was a parody and not caricature. One audition followed another but every time she got rejected and finally, totally out of spirit, she decided to return home.

Later she wrote that she was already boarding the intercity bus thinking about how she'd explain everything to her mother who gladly supported her desire to become an actress and would be very upset with her failure. Then she wondered what her friends, the Rescue Rangers, would say about it. What Chipper would say (she still called him that and Chip stopped minding it long ago). What Gadget would say…

At that very moment, with her leg already on the ladder leading to the rodent cabin deep inside the bus' luggage compartment, she heard the words Gadget said to her many years ago in Fat Cat's personal cabinet.

---

"_You don't get someone to like you by acting like someone you aren't. And YOU are Tammy. That's special enough."_

---

Tammy returned to the studio and on the next audition she didn't try to be anyone else but herself and her heroine. She didn't get that role, but was told she's got potential. They also told her who she could talk to, and after a while she received the first role ― sweet-tooth squirrel in the commercial for a chocolate butter. She had nothing to actually play here because the script seemed written with her in mind. Another role followed shortly, then the third one… They grew longer, more complex and more responsible each time, but she also acted better and better, always remembering to remain herself even in the most unpredictable situation, be it the parachute jump after the pack of "the best salted peanuts in the world" falling from the plane or a ride down the hill on the back of a grizzly bear with a can full of fresh milk for "the tastiest and the most delicate chocolate". And though she wasn't considered good enough to perform really significant roles, she earned enough for her parents and her little sister Bink to move to San-Angeles and continued working, saving little by little for the entrance fee to the best acting school which would open her the way to the big cinema.

Looking at this young, goal-seeking and, to be quite frank, pretty young woman, Chip couldn't believe that not too long ago she drenched his pillow with tears after he scolded her, irritated by her obtrusiveness and his friends' jokes about it. His rudeness was a defense reaction, the manifestation of his fear of looking stupid and desire to turn everything back instead of adjusting to new conditions. As a result he not just insulted Tammy but almost turned into canned cat food along with his friends…

"No, this won't happen again!" Chip promised himself silently but firmly. He even clenched his fists in determination, scattering bread crumbs across the blanket. "I won't let it happen!"

He started to shake the crumbs to the floor atilt, wondering once again at his ability not only to find but to create the problem out of nowhere. He did it when he saw the Great Conspiracy in Dale's and Gadget's trip to get the needed parts. He did it now when he seriously considered the option to sacrifice Millie's feelings to his egoism, conservatism and fear of leaving the bounds of his little safe world…

_Wait a second… This is it!_

Leave the bounds of his little safe world.

The day before yesterday he determined he was missing the live and personal contact and unconstrained joy which in the last six months after he had found his friends he considered lost forever became integral part of his everyday life. But there was something else which became it much earlier.

Jealousy.

Chip reclined on the pillow and covered his face with paws feeling not tired but exhausted, like the lone traveler walking through the desert for unknown number of days. He came a really long way chasing mirages and stepping into quicksand, but every time he found the strength to come out on the solid ground and continue his trip to the longed-for oasis. He made it, and now his exhaustion had a sweet flavor of triumph…

"How do you feel, Chip?" Millie asked entering the ward and clasped her hands. "Oh dear, you didn't eat anything! Do you feel sick? Stomachaches?"

"No, Millie!" Chip smiled and shook his head. "It's okay! I had to think a couple of things over and totally forgot about the food."

"Should I take the tray away?"

"No, Millie. I'll finish it. Later, maybe, but I'll finish it."

"It must have got cold long ago. You know, I can ask at the kitchen to warm it up. You won't eat cold…"

"Why? I will!"

"Oh, stop it!" Mildred smiled but her voice was strict and instructive. "Hot meals are much tastier and healthier!"

"No, everything's fine," Chip insisted. "Trust me, right now it has just the right temperature. And if they heat it up, I'll have to wait for it to cool down again and blow at every little bit…"

"Well, if you say so… Oh my, there's no bread! I'm so sorry…!"

"No-no, it was there! I ate it already!"

"Then I'll bring another slice."

"Thanks, but one is quite enough. And besides," chipmunk flexed his muscles and examined himself captiously; "I have to watch myself. I don't need any extra weight, you see…"

"I see," Millie nodded admiring Chip's biceps's which were impressive even under fur and sleeves of pajamas. "You are in great shape!"

"I'm a Rescue Ranger after all, it can't be otherwise! Not Turkle, obviously, but…"

"Oh, Chip, drop it! Turkle isn't fit to hold a candle to you!"

"Well, if you say so… On the other hand, he must be of some use at least, don't you think?"

Mildred didn't get what Chip was saying at first but when she did she laughed so hard it attracted attention of everybody in the corridor. The nurse apologized and closed the door, after which they both roared with laughter.

"Oh, Chip…" she said, blotting her tears with a handkerchief. "It was good… 'some use at least…' 'At least some use…' Oh, I can't stand it…"

"Yeah, indeed," Chip nodded catching his breath. "To tell the truth, I didn't expect it to fit so nicely…"

"'Nicely' is a cue understatement of the year! It's a masterpiece, really! When I tell it my colleagues they'll split their sides with laughter! As you have probably guessed, Turkle isn't the most popular person here."

Chip rounded his eyes in mock surprise. "Really? You must be joking, right? Such a kind and good-hearted orderly, so attentive, so…"

Mildred giggled again. "Please, Chip, stop it, my lungs are hurting already… Okay, time for me to go. Are you sure you don't want your supper warmed? It's no trouble at all for me!"

"No, Millie, don't bother about it. Everything's fine."

"Good night, then. And please, don't forget your supper this time!"

"I won't."

"Bye! See you tomorrow!"

"See you!" Chip nodded and soon was alone again.

_I wonder how fast my joke would reach Turkle's ears…_

Chip grinned as he imagined orderly's fury. Then again, he deserved it. The open crutch fight didn't happen so they'd have to settle to quarrel in absentia. No rest for the wicked as they say…

Chip made another attempt to have supper but spat the very first bit back. Just like Mildred predicted, it was cold and traditionally oversalted. Looks like he'd have to break his promise and do without supper today. No problem. After all, he was telling the truth about the need to watch his weight. Sedentary life together with nourishing diet could lead to bad results. Breakfast like a king, lunch like a queen and dine like a pauper…

_Maybe I should give it to Turkle?_

Chip smiled at his own thoughts, then covered the full plate with an empty dish and put the tray on the bedside table for the second time in a row. An exercise of sort, too…

_Okay, enough exercises for today, time to sleep_.

Chip asked a mouse-nurse passing by to pick up his tray and turn off the lights. He closed his eyes but quickly realized he didn't want to sleep at all. Maybe the light from the corridor interfered, or maybe some breadcrumbs slipped under the blanket… Or maybe nerves? It was strange because all these days he fell asleep fairly quickly despite all the worries…

Most probably the tiredness accumulated during last missions was showing. This means he wasn't as worn-out as before. It wasn't a tropical resort, that's for sure, but the hospital environment definitely favored the rejuvenation.

Chip beat his pillow up and just lay there, breathing deeply and steadily. Even simple lying under warm blanket with your eyes closed was pleasant enough. No need to urge yourself to fall asleep as fast as possible in order to refresh before getting up bright and early. No need to hurry up. Certainly the plaster case impedes some, but it's fairly easy to get used to. There are worse things than the plaster on a broken leg.

Concerning the worse things. Tomorrow he'll ask Mildred about Mr. Bucksup's condition. Is there any progress, any hopes… Anything. They didn't talk about it today, fully engrossed in training session, deductive method and the janitor accident. But Chip knew that Millie, despite all her efforts to look happy and carefree, was very much concerned about it. Though his words won't help the sick Maecenas to recover, they will instill her with strength and confidence. She'll feel better. And he will, too…

Something heavy plopped down on the floor in the corridor. Chip, already dozing, opened his eyes and listened, but quickly calmed down. It was Washy. The same sounds as on the first night. Quiet steps, plash of water wrung out of the rag, indiscernible muttering… Now Chip knew that Washy talked to himself not because of boredom but because of syndrome…

_I wonder what he is feeling at times like these… Maybe he thinks he is talking with invisible and unheard friend? Or he just muses upon something not noticing that he's saying his thoughts out loud? What does he and the likes think about to begin with…?_

Chip thought he heard the janitor say "Mildred" and strained his ears but couldn't discern anything. Washy was talking quietly and the closed door was on the way. He must be hearing things… Yes, once again he was seeing and hearing things suggested by jealousy. It was really funny. Despite all the efforts Chip couldn't do anything about it. Yet.

_Back to the fight, then, even if my foe is my own nature and my own habits. No problems. I'm used to fight…_

_Another habit, come to think of it…_

Yes, the habit is certainly the second nature. Or in his case, judging by all the facts, even the first. What should he use against it? Only one thing ― another habit. Fight fire with fire. Habit to fight versus habitual jealousy. The Stanley Cup Finals aren't in it with this match.

Minutes slowly passed by. Washy finished cleaning and left. Quiet steps, tapping of the glass doors and then there was silence.

_Did he really say Millie's name?_

_And even if he did, so what? Maybe he just remembered today's, that is, yesterday's confrontation with Turkle and thanked her mentally, involuntarily saying her name aloud…_

_No, it was just my imagination…_

Even if Washy's words were, the creaking of the floor planks clearly wasn't.

Chipmunk held his breath and soon heard quiet tapping. Someone was creeping down the corridor sticking his claws into a parquet wet after cleaning.

_Who can it be at time like this? Probably doctor warding round…_

But on the first night of his staying nobody came through the corridor between Washy's leaving and Chip's finally falling asleep, that is, for and hour and a half, and Chip trusted his inner clock. Now Washy left just twenty minutes ago, even the floor was still wet.

Maybe one of the patients went to refresh himself?

No, toilets are in the opposite end of the corridor and the stranger was walking towards the exit.

Maybe he wanted to talk to someone from the staff? This would explain it…

But wouldn't explain why the stranger stopped right in front of his ward.

Chip slowly half-opened his eyes so as they wouldn't flash in the darkness. The square of light from the window didn't reach the bed but they still could reflect scattered light and warn the stranger. If he was watching him, that is…

He was watching.

His eyelids only barely half-open, Chip saw no more than a dark silhouette against yellow background. But it was enough to understand that someone wearing nurseman's uniform is standing at his ward's window peering into the dark to determine whether the guest of ward number 6 was sleeping well. What can such attention mean? Chip tried to figure out how fast he could fetch a crutch. If he got lucky and agile enough he would be armed and ready to fight in three seconds. If the intruder gives him these seconds…

_But why the intruder? On the first night I fought against janitor. Who's next? Night shift nurseman warding round?_

_What warding round? There was no warding round at this time before!_

_So what? Maybe it wasn't his shift?_

_Maybe… No, something is wrong here…_

The stranger turned away from the window and went on down the corridor. Chip wasted no time. He quickly got up, took the crunches and came up to the window as quietly as he could. Something was going on here and he felt obliged to uncover it. His intuition failed him several times in the past, but Chip decided to listen to his radar now. Maybe it raised false alarms when dealing with feelings, but now was another case. At least, Chip hoped so, at the same time realizing it could be another false alarm raised by a paranoiac unfamiliar with hospital routine.

Chip pressed himself to the glass to see what was going on in the far end of the corridor but there was no line of sight. Luckily for him, the ward's door opened inside and to the right, allowing him to peek into the narrow slit. Just in time to see the stranger disappearing behind the third door on the right signed 'Intensive Care Ward No. 3'.

Harold Bucksup's ward.

It took Chip only three jumps to cover the distance from the door to the wheelchair. Showing one of the crutches behind the seat, he put another on his knees and exited the ward. Stranger's action, already satisfying all known and unknown criteria of suspicious behavior, now assumed truly sinister colors. The mere thought about what a high-trained nurseman-criminal could do to helpless old mouse terrified Chip, forcing him to push the wheels even harder. He didn't turn the engine on because its functioning was accompanied by low humming which in the deserted hospital corridors would sound just a little quieter than an air-raid alarm siren. And Rescue Ranger didn't want to make noise yet. If the bandit heard him, he would try to finish his dirty act before Chip would be able to stop him…

But why should it necessary be a 'dirty' act? Maybe it's an ordinary procedure performed, say, once every two days? That would explain why he didn't notice anything on the night between 8th and 9th…

But it wouldn't explain the stranger's suspicious behavior who entered the ward only after making sure nobody was watching. And a rich mouse like Harold Bucksup III must have plenty of enemies who wish him to die…

_Stop, but he's already dying! Why __would someone run such risks when nature was already taking care of that?_

_Maybe, someone is just too impatient…?_

Reaching the doors of the IC ward no. 3 Chip stopped. He would look really stupid if this stranger turned out an ordinary nurseman doing his rightful job. What if he conducted some delicate operation like changing the dropper or calibrating one of life support systems, and Chip's sudden appearance would make him twitch or press a wrong button? Then he wouldn't help but spoil everything…

Rescue Ranger looked around. Not a living soul around. Nobody able to shed a light on this situation…

LIGHT!

Chip shot a glance at the window to the right. It was dark.

THE STRANGER DIDN'T TURN ON THE LIGHTS!

Chip hit the door open with the crutch and drove in with the maximum speed. He found himself in a wide anteroom with three benches along the wall so that relatives and friends of the patients could wait for a doctor or watch the dear rodent through the window without need to crowd in the corridor. The lights were off but the LCD monitors of life support devices provided enough illumination to orientate in the ward freely. Through the aforementioned window Chip saw Harold Bucksup III lying on the bed, his right hand and head covered with sensors connected to the apparatus filling the room. Strange machines periodically clicked and blinked with various lamps, showing real-time information about Mr. Harold's condition on their screens. Chip didn't look there, though, his attention fully riveted to the nurseman by the bedside.

The lightning was far from perfect and the intruder's face was almost completely covered by the surgical mask and the medical cap moved down on the brows, but Chip could tell much about him nevertheless. His frame showed that he was a male and, according to shape of his ears and tail, a mouse. He obviously didn't expect to meet anyone and froze, holding the dropper case with his left paw and a syringe ready for injection with his right. Despite being only 1 minim in volume, five times smaller than the smallest of Human insulin syringes, it was still like an average hairspray can for a rodent. Still, the intruder held this bulky instrument with one hand and very confidently which showed his good professional training. No matter who he really was, it wasn't his first encounter with injection instrument. But, telling by his reaction, it was the first time he was caught red handed.

"Who are you?! What're you doing here?! Drop the syringe!" Chip ordered, but the criminal, as they pretty much always do, did exactly the opposite. Without a word, he flew at chipmunk and shot his arm with the syringe forward aiming at Chip's eyes.

Rescue Ranger's reflexes were in order, though, and the needle pierced the headrest just a fraction of inch away from his cheek and promptly stuck. Chip hit the assailant with the crutch aiming at his solar plexus but his opponent was no fool either and evaded the strike. Then he pushed Chip backwards, hurling his wheelchair across the anteroom right into a wall section between the window and the door. Chip was thrown backwards by inertia and the back of his head would surely hit the wall if it weren't for the second crutch which did three good deeds at once.

First, it hit the switch on the wall and for a moment sudden bright light of the lamps turned on blinded the criminal who was going to kick Chip's head. Second, the crutch took the collision impact upon itself, not only preventing Chip's injury but also making the wheelchair recoil off the wall. The intruder didn't expect that and was hit by Chip's protruding plastered leg. He moaned with pain and, almost stepping on the syringe knocked out of the headrest by force of impact, ran out of the ward and down the corridor. Chip turned his wheelchair around and turned its engine on, but even with full power his speed was no match for that of the intruder.

---

"_Surely they are capable of much more. But high speed would have been largely unneeded in hospital's close quarters, that is, wards, 'cause there are no quarters here, that's why I furnished the engines with electronic high-speed governor which prevents the engine speed exceeding a certain fixed number of revolutions per minute. If you turn it off…"_

---

Chip bent backwards searching for the wire in question. Here it is. Thick and leading to a small box, just like Dale said. And if you tear it off… something will happen. Maybe he needed to detach just a couple of contacts and the separation of entire cable will shut off the engine entirely…

Seeing the bandit running behind the corner, Chip threw the helve after the hatchet and pulled the cable. As long as the high-speed governor was in place, there was no big difference between driving on the engine power and pushing the wheels manually…

The cable cracked out of the slot and engine noise instantly grew ten times louder. The wheelchair pranced and its passenger gripped the handles getting morally ready for a fall on his back. But owing to larger rear wheels and Chip's plastered leg the wheelchair's center of masses moved forward so it didn't capsized. Instead its forward wheels lowered back on the floor and it darted forward with breathtaking speed.

_Well, with such a speed it's possible to run away from not just orderlies but a human car!_ Chip thought, grabbing the control stick. _It will be harder to avoid collisions, though…_

Reaching the corner, he braked down and almost flew out of the seat. He made a mental note about telling Gadget to install safety belts.

When the screeching and wailing wheelchair flew from round the corner, Chip saw the nurseman standing in the far end of the corridor in front of the cargo elevator. The yellow light shaped like an arrow pointing downwards shone above the doors, showing that the elevator was moving down. This elevator stopped in three locations ― on the roof of Central City Hospital auxiliary building and on the two Small Central Hospital levels. Fortunately for Rescue Ranger, previously the elevator was on the roof, three human and thirty two rodent floors above the SCH. Had it been down here or on the upper level, the criminal would have escaped long ago, but this way Chip had time to catch him.

Unfortunately for the chipmunk, the intruder realized it, too. Seeing the wheelchair incoming at full tilt, its passenger waving the crutch to both intimidate and keep balance, he changed his plans and ran to the bright-red doors of emergency exit. If it opened inside, Chip would have to spend many precious seconds on stopping, opening and acceleration. But the hospital was built in accordance with all fire safety standards, the doors opened outside so Chip just braked down a little and pushed it with the crutch.

Beyond the door was a ventilation shaft illuminated with an electrical garland fixed on the ceiling. In case of fire simultaneously with the alarm signal all the lamps turn on and its light, strong enough to penetrate even very thick smoke, will show the animals the way to safety. At the moment, though, only one of each three lamps was shining and the corridor seemed to consist of separate islands floating in the void through which the intruder was running.

"STOP RIGHT THERE!!!" Chip shouted driving after him. His opponent didn't listen, though. Why don't they ever do what they are asked to? After all, he asks him very politely…

Well, not exactly politely, but it could be worse! He could start swearing or throwing something heavy at him…

_Wait! That's a good idea! The weighty crutch should have enough stopping power. I just need to use it wisely…_

Chip estimated the distance to the opponent and decided to wait for a time being. The distance between them grew shorter every second but still remained too big to effectively use the heavy crutch. Another problem was that Chip would have to throw it with only one hand, the other used to control the wheelchair and remain in its seat. It wasn't easy because the shaft, aside from its obvious positive sides like width and height, both quite enough to have no worries about touching the wall or knocking your head, had a number of flaws. They included sporadical illumination and a fact that it was built from separate blocks and the joints formed hollows deep enough to make wheelchair jump up regularly. And the prospect to remain there sitting on the metal floor in the dark and cold and deserted corridor didn't fascinate Chip at all.

Then the opportunity presented itself.

They were approaching the T-shaped intersection. The intruder would have to slow down to pass the turn. That's when he'd catch up with him. His crutch, that is, and then he himself…

Chip raised his hand but in the very moment of the throwing two bad things happened at once. The wheelchair jumped up on the next junction making Chip to release the crutch slightly earlier than he planned and the nurseman looked back and saw what was incoming. He tucked, pushed off from the shaft's left wall with his legs and dove like a fish into the right branching. The crutch whizzed through the air, hit the wall and rolled to the left. Chip missed, but it wasn't his biggest problem. Now he had to do something to turn right, avoiding the fate of his own weapon.

He managed to it, but only partially. He didn't fly into left corridor, but hit the wall with his side, leaving a considerable dent and filling the shaft with a loud "BOOM!" which kept echoing through the corridor for quite some time. The axle of the left rear wheel bent and now it rotated in all three planes, but the wheelchair as a whole survived and Chip, who didn't really expected this collision to end up in anything but a pile of junk, continued pursuit.

Despite being hit with a plaster case, the evildoer wasn't slowing down. His uniform was drenched with sweat but his movements remained quick and nimble. Unlike Chip, he knew exactly where he was going, looking only forward and only occasionally backwards, unmistakably finding the way in this labyrinth where a single wrong turn could lead into a solid wall. The garland had nothing to do with this, because it was only partially on and you could easily miss the turn. Chip did exactly that several times, but not the male mouse he was pursuing. No, he definitely had traveled here many times and thus was much more dangerous than seemed at first glance.

The grate flashed by and Chip saw the corner of the underground parking, opposite from the SCH entrance. They were heading towards the adjacent structure, Building no. 2 of the city hospital.

As soon as he realized it, he knew he must catch the criminal before that. The section of the hospital's ventilation system they were in was basically a single long tunnel ensuring the air circulation between the surface and the parking, and its secondary branches ended up with sealed grates. In order to provide better air flow this tunnel had no steep slopes and it was possible to drive through it on a wheelchair.

But in Building no. 2 the ventilation was complex, with multiple levels accessible by ladders only which were insuperable obstacles for the crippled chipmunk. Chip knew it because he accompanied Gadget in her sorties to the storage room with old human equipment situated in this building.

That's why he pushed the control stick further ahead, squeezing every bit of power out of the engine. On the straight sections he almost caught up with the criminal, but every time the corridor turned just a couple of feet earlier than needed. As a result, the distance between them increased again, because the nurseman passed the turns without loss of speed while Chip had to brake down and accelerate again.

Twice he took the risks and didn't lower speed until the very last moment, but both times it ended in collisions with the wall and as a result the left wheel went completely nuts. Chip realized it wouldn't survive another collision and henceforth accelerated and braked carefully, trying to keep the balance between speed and safety. But his time was running out and he knew that sooner or later he'd have to stake everything or the attempted murderer would simply vanish in the metallic jungles.

The nurseman knew it, too, and soon left the illuminated corridor. The chase continued in the darkness for some time, and then Chip saw the moonlight coming through the grate. Passing by it he saw the hospital's main gates and knew it was time for action. They almost reached the Building no. 2, and if he remembered correctly, they were approaching the long and wide tunnel running beneath the sky bridge between the two buildings. After that ― impassable labyrinth. So it ought to happen here, in the tunnel illuminated by the shimmering light of two nearby lampposts. He'll either catch the felon or lose him.

Two sharp turns later they entered a wide tunnel, the opposite end of it lost in the darkness. Chip pushed the control stick to the limit trying to compensate the seconds he lost during last two turns. The nurseman looked back and, seeing that the pursuer was coming closer with the second crutch ready, started to jump from one side of the wide corridor to another.

Chip tried to determine the pattern of his movements but his enemy was smart enough to make his leaps at random and once in various time intervals, feeling instinctively when Chip was going to throw the weapon. Had his nerves been a little bit stronger he would have probably waited for another second thus forcing Chip to waste his only chance and remain unarmed. But he apparently forgot that the crutch was much slower than a bullet, and Chip always had time to react and abort the launch.

Just like that, with throwing attempts interleaving with jumps, they passed three quarters of tunnel's length, and outlines of decorative grating appeared ahead. The left branching ended with a ventilator drawing the air from the street and the right went vertically down, passed below the hospital corridor, went vertically upwards on its other side and grew into a system of shafts of various shape and size going through the entire building.

Chip grinned exultantly. No matter how the criminal tried to move unpredictably, there was a move he couldn't avoid doing. He must jump to the right at the end of the corridor in order to enter the tunnel inaccessible for the crippled pursuer. Even if Chip decided to jump down into the shaft, he wouldn't be able to climb up on the other side.

But owing to his faithful crutch, Chip could easily evade the shameful fiasco. All he had to do is throw the crutch in the direction of the right shaft so that it would reach it simultaneously with the felon. The heavy projectile will fly fast and hit hard, and because the criminal would be moving perpendicularly to its flight vector, the blow would plummet him into the wall, knocking him out or at the very least rendering unmovable for some time.

The felon tossed to the left. Predictable. If he remained on the right he would have to run there until the end presenting an easy target. Now he was near the left wall from which he would push off with his legs and dive right into the tunnel. Any second now… Leap, another leap… Fire!

With all his might Chip hurled the crutch into the right side of the corridor. If the nurseman jumps to the right, he'll meet the crutch right in front of the vertical shaft. It would be up to Chip to not let him fall down and break something. Hand, for instance, or, even worse, jaw. After all, Rescue Ranger needed him talking…

Just like Chip predicted, his opponent jumped forward. Not to the right, thought, but forward, to the decorative grate. Landing in front of it, he pulled invisible handle opening previously unseen door and slammed it behind him.

Chip froze jawfallen, gazing at the solid again grate in bewilderment and almost ran into it when the sound of a crutch hitting the metal brought him back to his senses. Chip applied brakes simultaneously turning the wheelchair to the right so as to get five more inches of the tunnel for his stopping distance. This precaution turned out handy as Chip stopped right up against the wall. Rubbing the sweat off his forehead, Chip picked up the crutch and drove up to the grate. It wasn't as easy as it seemed because with speed governor turned off the wheelchair got the habits of wild mustang. Finally Chip managed to make it move for no more than ten inches and looked closer at the grate.

At first glance it seemed perfectly normal, but when Chip pressed his head against the wall and looked at it from the side he saw a small ledge formed by slightly twisted ornamental oak leaf. Hooking it up with the crutch, Chip moved back for a safe distance and swung the hidden door open.

There was nobody immediately behind it and nothing fell from above. This meant that either the felon ran away or he was no full to swallow such primitive bait. Chipmunk grabbed the crutch and entered the room ready to parry a sudden blow.

The room beyond the grate was dark but a window on the regular door provided enough light to determine its purpose for sure. It was a storage room divided into two unequal parts by fully glazed counter. The only two ways to go through it were a locked door at the opposite end of the room and a deep reception niche where one could place the bill of quantities but not a knife or a gun. Spirit of the times, what's more to say. The rest of the room was filled with shelvings full of bottles, boxes, packs of bandaging material, cases of surgical instruments and other needful things.

There were many place to hide, and if the criminal knew this place at least as good as the ventilation, he probably hid himself so good that even with healthy leg Chip would need a couple of hours to fund him. If he was still here, that is, and hadn't escaped through another hidden passage long time ago. Nevertheless, Chip would operate on the premise that he was still here and move forward slowly and carefully. This way he still had the chance to catch him or notice something important. If the intruder ran away, Chip's speed didn't matter, but if he was still here, the lack of vigil could cost Rescue Ranger too much.

_Could he__ have escaped through the doors?_ Chip surmised while cautiously looking around. _No, there's not enough space beneath them and the outer doors must be the same… Maybe he is hiding behind the counter? The reception niche is deep and wide enough for a rodent… But how did he climb up the counter then? Its walls are made of slippery metal; the only chair stands too far away from it to jump… What about the shelving? No, mice don't jump that far… What if he had a rope attached beforehand?_

Chip threw back his head but so no ropes. He saw something else instead. On the each side of each shelving's leg there were holes drilled every inch which allowed configuring the racks at will by changing the height and the quantity of shelves. The majority of these holes were unoccupied, but some of them contained small metal planks only barely sticking out. They formed very neat ladders which the SCH personnel used to reach any shelf and any medicine. It was useful in general, but also meant that the intruder could be _anywhere_.

_Wait, what's that!_

There was a metal plank lying on the floor near the fourth shelving from the grate Chip came through. Apparently, it had been inserted not deep enough and fell out when stepped on. All the planks were inserted following a strict pattern and there was one extra hole slightly higher than the third shelf from the ground. Worth checking.

"Hey you!" Chip shouted driving closer to the suspicious shelving. "I know where you are! You won't get away! Surrender while you can, or else…"

The sound of the unlocking door forced Chip to search for cover. He barely had time to hide behind the shelving's leg when the door opened and a storekeeper entered holding a newspaper and a soda can. He switched on the lights, entered the interior part and was going to sit on his chair but suddenly stopped, patted his pocket and muttered something about forgotten change. He quickly locked both doors and only then remembered that he forgot to turn off the lights. Rules were rules, but he got too lazy to return. Besides, he was going to return in a couple of minutes… The man walked on to the vending machine on the corner, oblivious to the fact that his little misconduct saved the life of one very unusual chipmunk…

As soon as the door shut behind the man, Chip left his cover and suddenly noticed the light grew darker. Either the neon lamp above him grew dim or something covered it. Chip looked up and saw that the correct variant was the latter. It was a miniature solar eclipse in which the role of the moon was played by the heavy box moving from the shelf.

Chip pushed the control stick so hard it almost broke. The wheelchair buzzed and darted out of the shadow just the second before the box hit the ground. But Chip didn't have time to catch his breath because the first box was followed by the second, then third, and then down came some vials and smaller packs. The felon, vexed by the failure of his first attempt, threw down everything in sight. The din, rattle and clatter of the broken glass filled the storeroom and the air was filled with the odor of the spilled medicines.

Chip swung around to face the shelving and not lose sight of the criminal. The rain of goods didn't stop. Chip repelled a plastic vial flying at him with the crutch and backed a wheelchair to leave the dangerous zone. When he saw he was a safe distance away from the shelving he was stupid enough to use as his cover, he braked. Too late. The wheelchair hit the adjacent shelving. Chip barely collected himself after sudden impact when two plastic vials of aspirin which stood on the very edge fell down on him. Chipmunk repulsed one of them but the second one hit him in the head, knocking him out of the seat and down on the floor.

_Looks like I'm the first to get the headache after taking aspirin… _Chip thought. He tried to raise himself on his elbows and reach the crutch lying nearby, but his sight was blurring and shaking and he fell back on the floor. The linoleum pleasantly cooled his face hot after chase and seemed soft like a feather bed, the best place to fall all your length after a hard day and close your eyes for at least six hundred minutes…

"_Move!!!"_

_As soon as the headache subsides a little…_

"_Get up!!! Move!!!"_

_What's this rush for…__?_

"_GET UP!!!"_

The Rescue Ranger shook his head. The multicolored circles slowly faded away and he made another attempt to reach the crutch. The shattering of glass and thunder of falling boxes still filled his ears so he didn't heard approaching steps.

The mouse wearing a sweat-drenched uniform of an SCH nurseman observed his adversary's unsteady movements with a mix of hatred and amazement. Come to think about it, being chased to exhaustion by chipmunk-cripple with a broken leg. Dangerous opponent, no doubt of it. Even too dangerous… The felon looked at the broken glass fragment lying nearby. It was large enough and had a perfect shape and sharpness to solve all the problems with one good strike… He bent down to pick it up but then the sound of a key inserted into the lock came again. Swearing under his breath, the nurseman darted to the grate he came through and left only a moment before the storekeeper entered the room and saw the devastated shelving.

"WHAT THE HECK IS THIS?!!!" the man shouted. He ran up to the inner door, so nervous that it took him five attempts to insert the key properly, and clutched his head in despair seeing the vials and pills floating in the pools of medicine covering the floor. He didn't know what to do or how he would explain all this to his supervisors. The man crouched down and carefully, so as not to cut his fingers, lifted the yellow pack full of broken ampoules.

"Gosh…" he muttered in terror when he read the inscription. "Not this… So much money… Nobody will believe I have nothing to do with this…"

He caught a brief movement at the ventilation grate with a corner of his eye. He looked there but saw nothing.

_But something definitely was there!_

Putting the pack on the counter, the man lay down on the floor and looked into the grate. After several seconds of peering into darkness he slowly sat up and rubbed his eyes.

"Hold on, Charlie, hold on… It's just the tears in your eyes… You are nervous and just see things… It's only stress and nothing but stress. There can be no chipmunks riding the wheelchairs. Chipmunks doesn't have wheelchairs, it's impossible…"

*** 2 ***

The hum of engine was loud like never before and gave Chip a complete effect of presence in the wind tunnel inhabited by a bee hive. The adrenaline rush which allowed him to escape from the devastated storeroom ended and the consequences of the aspirin hit make themselves felt in full force. Clutching his splitting head, Chip moved forward in jerks trying to keep his wheelchair right in the center of the shaft.

The felon was gone, most probably vanished in the depth of Building no. 2 or maybe even left through a fire exit where the evacuation route marked with the garland led. He was of no interest to Chip, for now at least. He was much more concerned about Harold Bucksup's condition. As far as Rescue Ranger could tell, he entered the ward before the killer injected his drug into the dropper. That's good news. Now it was time to find out what exactly he wanted, and the answer to it was in the syringe lying on the anteroom floor.

This time Chip had to pull the doors of emergency exit to himself. The rehabilitation section once more reminded him of a stirred up hive. All doors were opened and the patients awakened by the noise loudly discussed the various versions. When Chip appeared the voices quieted down but in a moment sounded even louder, like a fire fed with another portion of wood. Chip wasn't in mood to answer these keen looks and questions asked by the most impatient. He just drove by, heading to the IC ward no. 3 and in its doors collided with the one person he expected the least but wanted to see the most.

"Oh my gosh, Chip!" Mildred ran to him as soon as the front wheels of his wheelchair crossed the threshold. "Where have you been?! What happened?!"

"Not so loud, Millie, please…" Chip asked. The loud sounds felt like hammer-strikes for him.

"Are you hurt?! Let me see it…"

"Later, Millie, no time now. How's Mister Harold?"

"No changes. What happened?"

"Someone wanted to kill him."

"Whom? Mister Harold?! But who?!"

"I don't know, some nurseman. Or someone dressed as a nurseman. He wanted to inject something into the dropper. Syringe must be here somewhere…"

"It's over there, on a chair. But it's empty…"

"Empty?!" Chip exclaimed and winced at the pain caused by his own shouting. "It can't be empty. Where is…?"

"There," Millie pointed at the wall and Chip saw a big wet spot. How could it happen? He was sure the syringe was full when it fell down on the floor…

Was it?

Chip looked at the spot again. It was shaped like an overturned parabola, its top only slightly higher than the back of a nearby bench. Chip drove up to it and, using a crutch, determined where the needle piercing the headrest would have hit.

At first glance everything was clear. During the fight the killer could accidentally press the plunger spilling the syringe contents on the wall. When wheelchair hit the wall the needle broke up and it fell on the floor. Chip remembered that the liquid in syringe was colorless and transparent, so it was no wonder that he didn't notice the syringe was empty when it fell down…

But what if it wasn't?

What if it was full and somebody emptied it later?

"How did you get here, Millie?"

"Through the doors, how else?"

"It's logical, but it's not what I meant. Tell me everything from the very beginning and with as many details as possible."

"Okay. I was warding round the section…"

"But tonight is not your shift."

"No, but the nurse whose turn it was…"

"Cottons?" Chip asked, remembering the shift timetable he studied earlier.

"Cotton, Sarah Cotton. She asked me to substitute her because the married couple whom she left her son John told their plans changed and she had to go after him. So, when I was passing by the section I heard the voices. I came in and saw the patients standing in the corridor and the opened door to Mister Harold's ward. Then I saw Turkle, called him and ran here…"

"When you came in where was the syringe? On the floor?"

"I think, yes… But I didn't notice it at once. First I ran to check Mr. Harold's condition and only when I went out I saw the empty syringe and a broken needle and put them on a chair so that nobody would step on them…"

Chip banged his fist on the handle of his wheelchair so hard that everything went dark before his eyes and he clutched his head again.

"Chip, what's with you…? Gosh, you've got a huge bruise there!" Millie took out her handkerchief and carefully pressed to Chip's forehead making him wince with pain. "What hit you?!"

"You won't believe me. Aspirin."

"A pill?"

"A vial."

"A vial?! It can be a brain concussion!"

"I don't have any concussion, besides it's not the point! You mustn't have touched the syringe! There could have been fingerprints left there! It was evidence, do you understand? Direct evidence! And now…"

Bewildered nurse looked first at Chip, then at her paw.

"Chip, what prints are you talking about?"

"Fingerprints. There are special papillary lines on the fingertips. They are unique and thus are you used as one of the main ways to prove whether or not the particular man was involved into…"

Chip fell silent and looked at his palm. He giggled nervously, then again, and finally laughed loudly but quickly stopped because laughing made his blood pressure rise causing another paroxysm of headache.

"Chip? Chip?" Millie tugged him. "Do you hear me? We need to examine you immediately!"

"Yes, Millie, especially psychiatrist… Gosh, fingerprints…"

Chip shook his head in despair trying to keep the motions not too abrupt. It was indeed a clinical case. That's what happens if a rodent reads too many human detective stories. What fingerprints can be there if the felon is a mouse? If it were gorilla or some other primate, then certainly…

"What's going on here?" Dr. Stone asked strictly and anxiously as he entered the ward followed by Turkle. The orderly cast a grim glance at Chip and wanted to say something unpleasant but presence of his superior made him change his mind so he just turned away to demonstrate that Rescue Ranger interested him no more than some furniture. Chip requited like for like and immediately got down to business. While he was talking the old doctor grew more and more dismal and his thick brows moved closer and closer to the bridge of his nose, in the end forming one solid white line.

"I'm speechless, young munk," he finally said. "If it's true, and knowing about your vast experience I have no reason to believe otherwise, it's very serious!"

"Yes, Dr. Stone, totally serious."

"Still," the head of the hospital paused and looked at the old mouse, unawaken even by the fight ensued in his ward, "I don't quite understand why someone would risk doing it considering Mister Bucksup's condition…"

"It's a mystery for me as well, but I hope your assistance will help me solve it. So, first I need to interrogate all male mice working in this hospital. Second…" Chip grimaced and touched his bruise.

"You need to be observed!" Stone finished for him. He stepped up to the Ranger, told him to follow his fingers with eyes only and watched his pupils. Then doctor turned to Mildred.

"Millie, take Mister Chip to tomography cabinet. I'm just from there and the operator should still be on his post. Then ― bandaging. And no objections!" he added, rejecting all Chip's protests in advance. "Head injury is a serious matter, trust me!"

"Current situation is much more serious, doctor! We are wasting time! If the killer is one of the night shift employees we have a chance to catch him! But we can't allow him to get back to his workplace, you understand me?"

After a brief pause Stone nodded. "Yes, I do. I'll issue all needed orders."

"That's not all. There is a complex chemical analysis device here…"

"Yes, Master Gadget built an entire minilaboratory for us!"

"Yes-yes, I helped her to assemble it. I know it's late but the matter brooks no delay. We must take a sample from the wall," Chip motioned at the dark spot, "and determine what was in that syringe."

"We'll do it. And you, Millie, take care of our hero."

"But―"

"Don't worry, by the time all the needed employees gather you'll be free."

"Then I want to ask you to write down who comes when."

"Sure."

"Oh, and tell Turkle to stay here and watch," Chip purposely spoke about the orderly standing right here in the third person. His piquing hit the target and Turkle's face flared with anger.

"You think…" Dr. Stone began.

"We should be ready for everything. Besides," Chip motioned at the faces of patients behind the outer window, "we need some crowd control here, too."

"You are right. Turkle, you stay here. Mister Chip, Millie, follow me."

Leaving Turkle to fend off the onlookers from Mr. Harold's ward, the trio went down the corridor. On the first junction Dr. Stone went straight ahead while Millie drove Chip left, to the already familiar diagnostics section. Mildred was obviously tired, and Chip felt uneasy for forcing her to push him along. But he couldn't help it. The hospital corridors were too narrow to safely drive the wheelchair with disabled speed governor, and he was a very bad race driver at the moment. So he just leant back and closed his eyes. This position was more suitable for the thinking. And his head hurt less this way.

"You know, Chip, you're good judge of character," Millie said when they reached the tomography room.

"What do you mean?"

"You enlisted Dr. Stone's support right away, let him into all your plans. You didn't even think of suspecting him, though he's a mouse, too."

Chip nodded. "Yes, Millie, he is. But neither he nor Turkle could be that mysterious nurseman. Their constitution differs greatly. And in Dr. Stone's case, age also."

"You mean if it weren't for this, you'd…"

"Suspect everyone. That's the rule."

Millie's brows flew up. "Oh? So, me too?"

Chip smiled and stroked her hand. "Gosh, Millie, of course not! First, you aren't a male mouse. Second," he paused to underline the significance of the words he was going to say, "you are my friend. And for me, the friends are beyond any suspicions."

Tomogram didn't show any deviations from the norm, and Mildred drove Chip to the surgical section to have him bandaged. The pain started to subside, but it still hurt badly, especially during the treatment of the point of impact. But Rescue Ranger stoically sat through seemingly non-stop procedures, and when he entered the lounge temporary turned into an investigator's office, he felt the strength to interrogate the suspects till the morning but find out the truth.

It ended much faster, though, because there were only ten male mice working today and only four of which more or less matched the description of the attempted murderer. All of them had bullet-proof alibi and nobody was rubbing injured abdomen. Chip tried his best to catch them on inconsistencies but no matter how many traps he set up, he had to let everybody go and apologize for inconvenience.

"I understand there is no result?" Dr. Stone inquired when the door closed behind the last of the former suspects.

"Quite the contrary, doctor, this result is positive enough for now we have whole ten suspects less. There are only eighteen male mice working in day shift left, and they are the first ones I'd like to see tomorrow, that is, today in the morning."

"In this case, Mister Chip, I strongly suggest you to go sleeping to refresh before the morning."

"No-no, I need to go to the lab…"

The doctor got mad. "What are you talking about?! Look at yourself! You are pale as death! You need to go to bed immediately!"

"Please, Doctor Stone, listen to me. I understand you perfectly and I'm grateful for your concern. But you should understand that there's nothing more important for me now than this analysis results. I don't know what's going on here but it's very serious and I won't rest until I find it out. And I need your help."

"Young munk, you don't understand…"

"Let's stop wasting time on useless arguments, doctor. I won't sleep until I have these results anyway. Besides, the tomogram showed everything's in order and my bruise was treated and bandaged. I'll be okay."

The old doctor looked angrily at Chip and saw he was determined to go to the end.

"You know, Mister Chip, you are the most stubborn rodent I've ever met!"

"I know, doctor, I've been told that many times. Will you show me the way to the lab or not? Trust me, it will be much worse if I go rolling about the hospital knocking at each and every door searching for it. The peace and quiet of all SCH personnel and patients depend on you, doctor, think about it. So, what's your answer?"

Stone sighed. "Do I have the choice?" he asked and Chip knew it was victory.

"No," he shook his head slightly faster than needed and winced. Stone saw this and instantly grew serious again.

"Well, suppose I don't have a choice," he said in official tone, "but I do have a condition."

"What condition, doctor?"

"You'll take painkiller. And promise not to worry. Agreed?"

"I'm more than agreed!" Chip exclaimed raising hands to the ceiling.

"Don't play fool, Mister Chip!" Stone observed strictly, but the joyful sparks in his eyes showed unambiguously that while he didn't approve Chip's behavior, it appealed to him. Maybe, Chip thought, he reminded the old doctor about his own youth…

_Sure thing!_

Doctor Stone also couldn't imagine himself leaving without examining a badly sick or heavily injured patient. When Chip was brought here, he was leaving already but considered it his duty to stay and oversee everything in person. It was all the same now. First someone needed urgent tomography scan, then incident with Mr. Harold, now investigation… It was almost 2 AM now, but he didn't even think of leaving his post and his hospital he was responsible for. Not before some higher authority for he was the authority, but before himself and all the rodents of this city if not country as a whole…

"I won't," Chip nodded.

"All right, then. Millie will take you to the pharmacology and then ― to the laboratory. The process of sample analysis should have begun by now. We'll wait for you there."

"Thanks, doctor," Chip said and Mildred drove him to the pharmacology section located in the opposite wing of the hospital.

SCH medicine storeroom was absolutely identical to the one Chip visited slightly more than an hour ago. Same room divided by the counter into two unequal parts. The only difference from its human counterpart was ordinary pick-up window and the storekeeper ― an old female rat sleeping on the small chair in the corner.

"Prudence!" Millie called but she didn't react. The nurse tapped at the glass but it didn't help, either. She sighed deeply and muttering "This always helps…" passed her claws over the glass. Loud and nasty sound was capable to wake up not only sleeping but a dead rat. The storekeeper flinched and looked around. She was weak-sighted but immediately recognized Millie, broke into smile and came up to the window.

"Millie, my girl! It's been long since the last time you came to see old Prudence."

Nurse smiled back. "No, Prudence, I came here just shortly after noon."

"Ah-ah-ah, my dear, it's for the young ones like you 'shortly after noon' is 'just'. For us, old rats, it's another case…"

"I know, Prudence."

"You are tired, Millie. One night shift after another, yes? They are driving you hard, too hard…"

"I can't help it, Prudence. Sarah had to pick up her son…"

"Oh, her John is a true little scamp. But couldn't she ask someone else?"

"Well, she asked me first…"

"Knowing that you never refuse. It's a very good trait but listen what I'll tell you ― don't let anyone to abuse your kindness."

"Thanks for the advice, Prudence, but you know me…"

"Yes, Millie, I know you. I know you very well. But this young chipmunk I don't know…"

"My name is Chip," Rescue Ranger introduced himself, raising a bit and bowing politely. "Nice to meet you, Prudence, but we're in a hurry…"

"You young ones are always in a hurry, running somewhere headlong, never having time for us, old ones…" The old rat lamented. "But life is life. I was the same at your age… What did you say you needed?"

"Medicine for a headache," Millie answered. "One pill."

"You turned young man's head, I see, didn't you?" the storekeeper grinned with a meaning making Millie to blush and Chip ― to cough nervously. "I'll go get it. I just need to remember…"

"Third shelving, second shelf," Millie prompted.

"Thanks, dear, you know better than me where everything is." Prudence opened the door to the inner room. "Come in, child, take it by yourself, or I'll mess something up…"

"Don't say that, Prudence, you never mess up anything!" Millie objected but accepted the invitation and disappeared among the shelvings. In a minute she returned carrying a small white pill. Prudence let them use her cup, and Millie filled it with water from the old rat's kettle and gave to Chip.

"What medicine is this?" he asked twisting the pill in his fingers.

"Aspirin."

"Aspirin?!" Rescue Ranger gulped and giggled nervously. "Excuse me, but I've had enough of aspirin lately!"

"Stop it, Chip. It will ease your pain and you'll feel better soon. If it means so much to you, it isn't the same aspirin as the one that fell on you because all human drugs are modified according to rodent standards. The original name is used simply for convenience. Drink."

"Looks like now I'm the one who has no choice," Chip muttered swallowing the medicine with which he now had equally unpleasant memories associated as with the chest in the amusement park.

*** 3 ***

The multi-function analyzer occupied the area roughly equal to four intensive care wards along with the anterooms. It stood in the center of a spacious hangar-like hall and apart from the size, there was nothing spectacular about it. Gray parallelepiped composed of twelve identical cubical blocks 1,5 feet on a side. There were several trays for different types of substances in the center of a side facing the doors and a cell phone screen to the right of them. Immediately beneath the screen there were thin output slit of printing device and a smartphone QWERTY-keyboard.

Aside from these, device's walls were absolutely smooth, its blocks placed so tightly together you won't be able to shove the razor blade between them. Instead, there were round hatches on the top side of each block which made the analyzer look like a pack of tin cans from above. These hatches served as maintenance access points used to repair the machine and filling it up with reagents, print paper and batteries. The electrical problems could make the working machine go unstable, that's why the analyzer had ten D batteries installed which, according to Gadget's calculations, was quite enough to safely finish just about any chemical reaction and produce the results. The batteries were stored in two rear blocks and their change was carried out with the help of overhead bridge crane.

"Any news, doctor?" Chip asked entering the laboratory. In contrast with many other Gadget's inventions, the analyzer worked almost noiselessly. The only signs of machine's work were regular humming coming from the inside and "Please stand by…" message blinking on the screen, so it was possible to talk with no problems.

The old doctor waved his paw invitingly. "Ah, Mister Chip! Come in!" Besides him there were Turkle and lab assistant on duty, very young and very disheveled male mouse who obviously got this job not too long ago because the presence of the hospital master made him very nervous. Sure, Rescue Ranger couldn't but wonder whether there was some other reason for his nervousness, but this guy was too frail to be the night nurseman. The orderly's presence, on the other hand, did arouse questions.

"Shouldn't Mister Turkle be at the ward?" Chip asked, traditionally addressing his question to Stone. This time, however, Turkle answered.

"I asked Willis from surgery to watch there, Mister Chip. In case my help is needed her, Mister Chip. Hope you don't mind, Mister Chip."

Turkle's studied officiality and sugary politeness didn't go unnoticed. Sr. Stone cast a grim glance first at the big mouse, then at Rescue Ranger. Both kept indifferent expressions but it was obvious they were ready to start fighting any given moment. The old doctor looked at Chip again, this time with fatherly reproach. Chipmunk nodded, admitting to being in the wrong, and turned the conversation back into constructive realm.

"Do we know anything about the drug from the syringe?"

"As we expected, the syringe was clear because most of its contents ended up on the wall, and the rest contained in the needle flowed out after the fall. That's how I explain it," Stone answered.

"Got it. What about the samples from the wall?"

"The process is underway, the results will be there in―" doctor glanced at the screen. "Fifteen minutes."

"Thank you. Millie, please, drive me up to the table and then you can have some rest…"

The nurse interrupted him. "No way! If you in your condition don't rest, I will neither! And don't argue, you aren't the only stubborn one here!"

"Understood," Chip nodded, not very disappointed with her refusal.

They joined with the others sitting around the table covered with some blanks. Chip noted that the seemingly shapeless heap of papers had been once a neat pile. He compared the size of shallow dent in its center with that of a compressed fur area on lab assistant's cheek and found the reason of his anxiety. He whiled away the night in the most natural way possible ― slept using the pile of blanks for analysis results as a pillow. Probably he didn't even hear the call over the loudspeakers and now was taking it hard to be caught by Dr. Stone himself. Now old mouse's attention was fully absorbed by the analyzer, but who knows, maybe later he would return to the question about working discipline…

Chip noticed that the assistant, deeply impressed by the casual manner of his conversation with the head of SCH, glances at him from time to time. Chipmunk pointed at the heap, then put his paws under his cheek, imitating sleep. Young hospital worker blushed and motioned at Stone sitting right between them, his eyes full with undisguised alarm, as if asking what could be expected from him. Chip indicated that everything would be alright and he had nothing to worry about. The gestures of such an authoritative chipmunk reassured the lab mouse and he assumed a dignified air.

Turkle hemmed arrogantly at this scene while Millie touched Chip's shoulder and whispered "Well done!" in his ear. Flattered Rescue Ranger just shrugged his shoulders showing it was nothing, but the nurse obviously thought otherwise and till the very end of analysis her hand stayed on Chip's shoulder. That's why when the loud trill and the rustling of paper creeping out of the printer announced that the work was finished, Chip, although he had been waiting for this moment impatiently, felt he wouldn't have really complained if the apparatus had worked for another couple of minutes.

"What's there, Stew?" Stone asked rising and coming up to the lab assistant. The young mouse was the first to run to the output slit and grabbed the paper before the circular blade hidden under machine's hull separated it from the rest of the roll. His hurry alarmed Chip at first but turned out he wanted not to destroy the results but not to let them fall on the floor.

"Here, doctor."

"Well-well, that's interesting… Hmm…"

"Something wrong, Doctor Stone?" Chip inquired catching up. The aspirin started to act and his head didn't hurt as before so he drove his wheelchair himself not wanting to lumber Millie with it.

"See for yourself, Mister Chip!" The doctor handed him the paper sheet showing the histogram of relative percentage of different substances' shares in the analyzed sample. The machine was able to separate five independent components, one of which amounted for almost 90% of the total mass. Another four constituted 9 percents, the rest was labeled "other admixtures."

"And what does it mean?" Chip asked. He regretted to know nothing about chemistry, another area of Sureluck Jones expertise, and swore to himself to repair this gap as soon as possible.

"It means we have much of calcium sulphate hemihydrate, a small amount of bases and salts of calcium sulphate hemihydrate and such a scanty quantity of other substances they are practically unidentifiable."

"Calcium sulphate is a result, too!"

Stone shook his head. "No, Mister Chip. Calcium sulphate hemihydrate is a wall plaster. So this result isn't news at all."

"But the analyzer found other substances, too!" Chip exclaimed. "That means…"

"Sorry for interrupting you, Mister…" the lab assistant began uncertainly.

"Chip."

"Stewart, nice to meet you. So, Doctor Stone is surely right. Certainly I can't say we mastered this machine completely. It was installed not too long ago, relatively, and such a complex machine demands…"

"I got it, Stewart, come to the point."

"Yes, sure, I understand. In short, I wanted to say that if the machine classified something as general admixtures, it basically said that it can't determine what it was, otherwise it would have provided us with the exact name of this substance or substances in the main list."

"But it found them there somehow! So it knows them!"

"No. In this particular case, it found not their presence but rather absence of calcium sulphate in their composition. That's all it could tell about them under the current conditions."

"Under current conditions?" Chip asked. "That is, the conditions can be changed somehow? And everything will work out?"

Stewart made a helpless gesture. "I don't even know. If something can improve the results radically, it's the cleaner sample in which there wouldn't be so much plaster and, ideally, no plaster at all."

"Maybe we can somehow separate the plaster from everything else?"

"Basically, the analyzer has very rich set of reagents, but as long as we don't know what exactly we are separating we'll have to act almost at random. That would take time…"

"Why? We know what we are separating! Calcium sulphate hemihydrate and its derivatives! You said it yourself!"

"Yes, Mister Chip, you and I know it." Stewart patted his paw against the analyzer hull. "But this thing doesn't. So…"

"So we'll have to teach it! Do you have the manual?"

"It's over there," Stewart waved his hand in the direction of the bookshelf in the other end of the room and barely had time to jump aside evading the wheelchair darted by. Chip forgot about the speed governor and pressed the control stick with all his might. He remembered about it just in time to stop right next to the shelf, almost kissing the backs of thick carton folders.

"Gosh, Chip! Are you alright?!" Millie darted to him followed by everyone else.

"Yes-yes, I'm fine," chipmunk waved his hand impatiently. "So where's the manual? I don't see it; there are so many folders…"

"Actually, this is it," Stuart answered. Chip's jaw dropped to his belt level as he observed the bookshelf, amazed and terrified of Gadget's technical genius. Doctor Stone and Mildred also froze, impressed with amount of work Master Gadget made, while Turkle grinned spitefully, openly enjoying Rescue Ranger's confusion. He didn't rejoice long, though, as Chip quickly took the situation under control.

"Stewart!"

"Yes, Mister Chip?"

"What folders of these have to do chemical analysis?"

"These five."

"Five? That's great! Every one of us takes the folder and― Oh, Doctor Stone, I didn't mean to…"

"It's nothing, young munk!" the doctor responded. "I hope you didn't expect me to stay away when something bad is happening in my hospital?"

"Let's not waste any time, then. Stewart, bring the folders to the table!"

"What if I make us coffee?" Millie offered.

"That would be great, my dear," Stone nodded, "but I should ask Mister Chip to abstain from it."

Chip tried to object. "Doctor, I…"

"Sorry, but I have to insist. Your way of life is already too active for a chipmunk hit in the head by a full vial of aspirin. Drugs for headache simply dull the centers of pain susceptibility, but the pain source stays there and there can be deterioration at any moment. The caffeine will boost this process as the widening of blood vessels and additional heart activity intensification will lead to, first, more rapid excretion of medicine from the organism, and second, will increase the pressure on your brain which is already strained beyond all the limits. Is it clear?"

Chip nodded. "Yes, Doctor Stone."

"I'm glad you understood at least something. Please bear no grudge against me. After all, you're my patient and I'm responsible for you."

"Sure, doctor."

"Good. Well, we've been talking too much lately, haven't we? Millie, we're waiting for you and the coffee. Stew, give me my folder…"

The folders being distributed, everybody delved into the study of multifunctional analyzer's capabilities. The work went smooth owing to enthusiasm, invigorating coffee and, the last but not least, the perfectly designed structure of reference material. With each studied page Chip grew more and more astonished. For others precision and purity of statements looked like something self-evident when you deal with someone as bright as Master Gadget. But Chip knew the beautiful mouse better than anyone else in the room, so for him it was very pleasant, but still great surprise.

Usually, when Gadget went into technical explanations, one could discern her words only by recording them and replaying it with speed halved or quartered down, and her train of thought was often untraceable at all. Dale managed to it somehow, but Chip thought it was due to the utter mess reigning in his friend's head which, when applied to Gadget's tangled explanations, produced the clear picture like a Cardan grille. Gadget's writings were not much better and sometimes it seemed quicker and simpler to rewrite everything from scratch than find the needed, well, scratch among all the blueprints, outlines and notes scattered around the workshop.

This time everything was different. The multivolume manual was the epitome of order and laconism. Polished phrases. Structure and logic of exposition. Direct references to other volumes with page, paragraph and even the line numbers. Exhaustive and elegant explanations which made everything simple and clear after the very first reading. The apotheosis of it all were two separate volumes of index containing every single reference to the definition of all the terms and commands of imbedded expert system, database and heuristic analyzer which used every bit of analyzer's CPU, memory and hard disk. The systems like this take years to design and verify, but here it was, standing right in front of them, and only now Chip asked himself a question which had been tormenting the first rodents of the SCH since they saw the analyzer: "When did she find time to learn everything needed for it?"

Despite the late (or early) hours, nobody felt sleepy owing not so much to Mildred's coffee as to the Gadget's instructions which could be read like a real sci-fi novel. One never was able to guess what new function or fantastic option would present itself on the next page. So there was no wonder that thick folders devoted to chemical analysis and control commands and containing 500 pages on average each were read through in less then three hours. The only bored one was Turkle who reluctantly turned the pages while yawning all the time.

Chip quickly realized the orderly would be of no use. For this reason, and because this dull-witted bumpkin annoyed him, the leader of Rescue Rangers and the head of their small research and investigation unit assigned him to do the most routine work ― bring the needed manual volumes and carry away the unneeded ones. Even the collection of samples from the wall, of which almost twenty were needed, Chip considered as too complex task for him, that's why, despite orderly's protests, he entrusted Stewart with this. The young mouse was overburning with enthusiasm and it was obvious he would go to Harold Bucksup's ward and back in record time, second to none but Chip's racing wheelchair.

As soon as all the samples were collected, the most crucial stage began. The first steps were simple and didn't call for huge machine time amounts. First they needed to feed the analyzer with the sample of clear plaster so that later, on the software level, its formula would be subtracted from the results of previous analysis stored on disk. This way the theoretical model of the remaining ten percent of initial sample was obtained. It took less than half an hour because the non-organic chemical analysis was carried out very quickly. Other non-organic substances the plaster contained were removed the same way. Now there was only one little thing left: to teach the analyzer separate previously determined non-organic substances from the sample containing unknown material to determine its composure and, if they got lucky, its name. Chances were significant as the analyzer's database contained profiles of all medicines used in Small Central Hospital.

"Okay, Stewart, you mat proceed!" Chip ordered, and the lab mouse's paws went running along the keys typing in the program.

This sight made Chip wince involuntarily as he imagined how long it would take them if Gadget installed a screen and a keyboard from the ordinary cell phone. She was going to do it because she couldn't get hold of the smartphone with QWERTY-keyboard. They just eluded her, and the ones she could find were beyond repair even for her. Catching at a straw, she started to write letters to those whom Rescue Rangers had helped and who theoretically could find such a device…

Among them was Sparky, and Chip remembered just a little too well how much he was worried that this time the rat scientist would be able to entice Gadget into the world of science. He didn't say anything to her because after that fateful Tuesday, 16th, he was determined to accept her choice whatever it would be. Still, he almost went nuts with emotions when Gadget was reading Sparky's answer, delivered by two mail pigeons along with the broken smartphone.

According to scientist's words, the device fell into his paws "by lucky accident". Its owner, a scientist from the lab across the corridor, left it on the table, accidentally placed a big and heavy device on top of it, then threw it into the waste bin afterwards from where Sparky fetched it.

Upon hearing this, Chip hemmed skeptically and brought a newspaper clip from his room with an article about mysterious theft from a storeroom of a service center situated in the vicinity of MIT and, what a coincidence, belonging to the company-manufacturer of the smartphone. But the strangest thing was that the robbers got into the building from the sewers through wide underground tunnel and took only one thing ― the broken smartphone brought in just a day earlier by an MIT worker.

Everything suggested that this very device was lying on the HQ porch at the moment. When Gadget realized it she grew very sad. The very thought of using the device acquired in this manner was unpleasant to her. Several batteries 'borrowed' from the toy shop or separate components taken from the warehouse to save the airliner was one thing. But using the stolen smartphone which could be very precious for its owner is another. Seeing the sorrow on her face, just a minute ago shining with happiness, Chip was ready tear his hair and curse himself with the rudest words he knew for bringing this darned newspaper clip.

Then Dale came to the rescue. "Big deal!" he exclaimed. "This ninny should have known better about scattering the valuable things all over the room! He must have bought the new one already! Besides, this device would be of much more for the SCH than for him!" Gadget thought and agreed. Chip felt relieved, too, and kept mum about a suspicion he had about whether it was the owner who put his smartphone on the table where it met with the heavy device, or it was moved there by a little nimble electrified paw…

But when Gadget reached the part of the letter where Sparky described the merits of a new MIT laboratory, Chip almost lost self-control. The rat scientist so vividly described the characteristics of the equipment installed there that Gadget could barely read it. She shook, her hands trembled, her voice quavered. She had to make pause after every second word to catch some breath, and at times like this she looked somewhere beyond her friends, obviously traveling to Cambridge, Massachusetts in her imagination. Upon reading the last paragraph in which Sparky invited her to come for a couple of days to see everything for herself, she sighed and looked at her friends, and Chip almost squeezed flat the thimble with a cold tea he completely forgot about.

"What do you think of it, guys? Isn't it great?" Gadget asked her friends who sat there still, waiting for her decision.

"Great, too right…" Monty nodded.

"Will you go?" Dale asked and gulped nervously.

"Where? To Massachusetts?" the mouse asked in surprise. "Golly, Dale, that's on the opposite end of the country and I have to finish the analyzer and lots of other equipment for the hospital! Besides, I can't leave you!"

In that very moment, after these her words, Chip felt on his own striped back that the phrase "to become crazy of happiness" was only a little exaggeration…

"Ready!" Stewart announced, pressing the "Send Message" button. The program upload procedure was built upon the text message service application, that's why the screen showed the animated caption showing an envelope flying away. The results, in turn, came along with the arriving letter caption. It came after almost two hours, but for everybody in the lab the time went by largely unnoticed because they had a rare opportunity to see the multifunction analyzer in action and in its entire splendor.

Following the instructions it received, the machine carried out all the necessary analysis, one by one swallowing the flasks with samples which were placed into a special holder slightly resembling a machinegun cartridge belt. According to all estimations, the procedure required twenty three samples, but the analyzer began devouring them so quickly that everybody started wondering whether they had missed an extra '1' or, maybe, even '0'. But after eating flask number ten the machine tighten her belt and by the time of number fifteen the amount of information about the unknown substance was enough and the loading of the new samples almost stopped.

Now it was turn for heuristic analyzer to kick in and search for such a substance among those contained in the data base whose properties would match the set of those for the substance in question as close as possible. Gadget tried various algorithms and finally chose genetic one, based on the principles of evolution and natural selection. Each possible solution was represented by a sequence of slots, each of them containing a value from a set predetermined during preliminary analysis. Because the substance in question was most probably organic, the set of possible components contained atoms of carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, nitrogen and the most common complex structures, such as hydroxyl, carboxyl, carbonyl group, amides, and also benzol, azepin and diazepin rings.

After that the initial population of 'chromosomes' was generated and ranked according to the quantity of needed properties each 'substance' satisfied. If no member of a population had all the needed properties, the next generation was built with the help of 'crossbreeding' and 'mutation' operations. The process continued until the optimal solution was found or the close to optimal solution remained the best even after numerous population changes and implementation of new rules of 'breeding' and 'sampling'. The final result was considered close enough to the optimal and output as a solution.

Although this stage with its 'survival of the fittest' routine was much more eventful so to say then the chemical procedures, it was much less entertaining. The process of solution finding was hidden beneath the thick hull with no eating of the flasks and no steam shooting out from the grates on the roof of the machine. Just a quiet buzz of a CPU cooler and blinking of "Stand by…" sign on the screen. It hypnotized everybody but Chip, who was growing more and more anxious with each passing minute.

"You are holding up very well, Chip!" Millie said quietly not to disturb Doctor Stone dozing on the chair nearby.

"And, mind you, without any coffee!" chipmunk answered in the same manner.

"I noticed and I'm amazed! Can you teach me like you did with concentration?"

"Training is the key to everything, Millie. This time, however, it's not due to training but due to my enthusiasm."

"If that was the only case, I'd be running and jumping along the room instead of sitting here, half-dead with tiredness," the nurse observed and backed words by deeds, closing her eyes and lowering her head on Chip's shoulder. Chip remembered Dale and Monty walking around the HQ landing strip in circles and repeating after Tammy: "Oh, yeah, Chipper! So heroic…! Isn't Chipper wonderful…?" But this time he just smiled and sent the obtrusive memories away. Thank you very much, but he's been there twice already, then and now― that is, yesterday.

"You know, Millie, taking into account your second night shift in a row, you are indeed running and jumping. I wouldn't have held for so long, even with coffee!"

Mildred smiled. "I'd rather believe that you won't fall sleep twice as much."

"Then they'd have to write my name into The Guinness World Records!"

"No, you'd have to try hard to leave other contenders behind/"

"There are other contenders?"

"Sure, they are always there. Doctor Spivey, for instance. He's an incredible workaholic. If I need coffee to keep myself going, he needs capybara's dozes of sleeping draught to force himself to rest even for a while!"

"I must assure you I haven't gone that far…"

A loud ring tone sound came from the analyzer and a postal envelope rapidly growing in size appeared on its screen. This caption was very short but by the time it finished there was not an inch of room in front of the screen. When the edge of paper with the results appeared from the printer, Stewart grabbed it so hard as if he was going to pull out at least half a roll.

"What's there?" Turkle asked impatiently, his sleepiness gone in a split second.

"Wait, wait… A-ha!"

"Stewart, please, be quick about it!" now Chip was hurrying the lab mouse up.

"We have 94% match!" Stewart announced when he finished reading and looked at the others in triumph.

"And?" the others asked in unison.

"It's something from class of non-benzodiazepines!"

"Yes, Stewart, that's very good news," Chip agreed politely. "Care to provide translation for the benefit of the pharmaceutically challenged?"

"Non-benzodiazepines," Millie explained, "is a class of psychotropic drugs which includes anticonvulsants, sedatives, soporifics, painkillers, anesthetics and the like. In the past these medicines were made of barbituric acid, hence the name barbiturates, or combination of benzol with diazepine, so called benzodiazepines. Nowadays the new generation of these medicines is implemented, called non-benzodiazepines, which have similar mechanism of action but absolutely different molecular structure. They are rapidly improving and should completely replace barbiturates and benzodiazepines in the near future. That's basically it"

"Bravo, Millie!" Doctor Stone exclaimed. "That's phenomenal! Where did you learn it all?"

"Well, when you live at the medicine warehouse, you'll be abreast of the main developments whether you like it or not…"

"Amazing! Totally amazing!"

"Thanks, Doctor Stone," Millie blushed and averted her eyes but met Chip's admiring look and blushed even stronger. The chipmunk turned slightly pink, too, but quickly regained his seriousness.

"Stewart, is this information accurate?"

"It should be."

"'Should'?" Chip asked, this time alarmed not by his radar but by conditional reflex.

"Yeah!" Stewart nodded, taken aback slightly by this reaction. "The manual reads exactly that: 'Though there is a possibility that genetic algorithm will get trapped in the local extremum of the goal function, the current version with improved mutation mechanism should evade it effectively and continue search in the needed direction…'"

"Well, if the manual reads so…" Chip nodded, not really relieved by the explanation. "It's rather strange… I mean, for a murder weapon. It would be much more convenient to use poison and not anesthetics… Then again, if the killer wanted to imitate the death from the natural cause, or an accidental overdose by personnel… What's the name of this drug?"

"I'm sorry, but the machine didn't determine it."

"What about database?"

"No match."

"Hospital storage?"

"Analyzer knows every medicine used in SCH. This is something different."

"But how…" Chip began, then it dawned upon him. "Exactly! The Human storeroom! That's where the killer came!"

"How do you know?" Stone wondered. "He could descend from the roof using elevator…"

"No, he couldn't! If he had come by the elevator, it would have waited for him on the first floor and not on the roof."

"That's reasonable," the doctor nodded. "Then again, he could have come through the fire exit!"

"He could," Chip agreed after some thinking. "But there's another point in favor of my theory ― he tried to hide from me in the storeroom, not run away through the fire exit. I think he subconsciously followed the path by which he came here. Though I must admit it's more a speculation than a fact, but still… Doctor Stone, could you get me a new wheelchair, please?"

"Sure! What do you want to do?"

"Go to the human storeroom."

"If I were you, Mister Chip, I'd wait a little with this."

"No-no, doctor, we can't waste any minute!"

"I know, but don't you think that after all that wreck and ruin you and the felon made it isn't the quietest place in the hospital right now?"

Chip struck his fist on the handle. "You are right, doctor. I completely forgot about that…!"

"Drop it, Mister Chip. You've done so much this night there's enough material for an action movie. That's why I advise you to sleep."

"Thanks, but…"

"Yes, I remember, the interrogation of the day shift workers. Let's do it this way. It's a quarter to six in the morning. The day shift starts at eight o'clock sharp. I'll put up an announcement telling all the mice to gather in the same room as before at 9 AM. And you'll sleep for three hours. Agreed?"

"Agreed," Chip said, feeling that the anxiety of waiting started to subside and the tiredness was slowly getting its way.

"All right, then. Millie, take Mister Chip to his ward and I'll arrange a new wheelchair. If nobody has any other suggestions, I offer to make a break for some time."

"Good idea, doctor. Thanks for everything!"

"Thank you, Mister Chip. You are a real hero! If it hadn't been for you, who knows what could have happened… Oh, one more thing!" Stone turned to Stewart and Turkle still standing at the analyzer. "Stewart, print two more copies of analysis results for me and Doctor Spivey. He's the biggest specialist in this field and can know what we are dealing with. Apart from him, nobody else should know about our findings and the details of the episode. I hope it's clear?"

"Clear!" the two mice nodded.

"Great idea, doctor!" Chip said when the three of them left the laboratory. "I was going to say it myself, but your order is much more weighty. Thanks!"

"Not at all!" Stone winked at Rescue Ranger. "After all, you aren't the only fan of detective stories here."

"You don't stop amazing me, Doctor Stone!"

"Harvey, Mister Chip. Just Harvey," the head of SCH extended his hand.

"Then forgot about 'mister'!" Rescue Ranger said, shaking the old mouse's paw. "See you tomorrow, then… That is, today."

"No, young munk," Stone answered with a smile. "Tomorrow. I'm too old for such adventures. Don't worry, my deputy will help you with everything you need. Then again, I'll be at home for a full day, so you know where to find me if necessary. Good luck and good― good morning, Chip!"

"Good morning, Harvey!" the chipmunk upheld the joke.

"Chip, you were great!" Millie said with awe, driving the wheelchair into a corridor leading to the rehabilitation section.

"You too, Millie."

"Oh, I'm no match for you! If it hadn't been for coffee I'd have fallen down long time ago! I hope your head will be fine soon and doctor will allow you to drink it. They all say I make a good one, you know, but I would like to hear the opinion of such a master as you. Agreed, Chip? Chip?"

There was no answer. Crushed by the burden of worries and problems which came his way during the last 24 hours, the leader of Rescue Rangers was sound asleep.


	6. Chapter 6 Prophylactic Interference

**Chapter ****6**

**Prophylactic Interference**

*** 1 ***

_December 14__th__, day_

"Thank you, Mister Martinez, you are free. Once again, I'm sorry for all the inconvenience."

"No problemo, Senior Chip, I know how important this is! Adios!"

"Another miss…" Dr. Spivey stated a fact.

Chip just shrugged his shoulders, albeit with each next interview it occurred to him again and again that they were just wasting time. After all, his version that the mysterious stranger worked in the SCH was based on his skillful handling of the syringe and his vast knowledge of the ventilation only. But these two facts could mean nothing. You didn't need to be a miracle worker to use the syringe, especially to stick it not into the vein or something like that but in much larger and easier to hit dropper. The ventilation was even easier to explain since the route from the emergency exit to the hospital was marked with the garland. True, the way to the warehouse wasn't, but it was quite logical to assume that someone wanting to settle a score with Harold Bucksup III would study the surroundings closely and get ready for everything. This time he failed because of random sleepless Rescue Ranger, but next time he could come prepared more thoroughly. That's why there were two orderlies constantly sitting in Mr. Bucksup's ward, with only Chip, Doctor Stone, Doctor Spivey as a doctor in charge and Mildred whom Rescue Ranger trusted like himself allowed there.

"Okay, let's see what the next one will tell us," the chipmunk said striking 'Martinez' off the list, not without disappointment.

The very moment this tall and sinewy Mexican entered the room Chip almost assumed the stance of hunting dog who found the fox burrow. This nurseman looked like the night intruder more than all the previous suspects taken together, having short hair and thin black moustache which could be hidden under the cap and the mask all too easily. Unfortunately, he had an iron alibi. He spent the most part of the last night with the family living next to his house assisting in sudden delivery, and every single member of the aforementioned family could confirm his constant presence on site, among them the newly-fledged father who was now here, in SCH, along with his wife and newborn children.

"Who's next?" Spivey asked getting up from the chair near the door to call the next medical worker in.

Chip took the next, fifteenth folder from almost finished pile. "Mitchell, the ambulance nurseman."

"Mitchell!" the hamster shouted into the corridor.

"Absent!" the answer came.

"Absent? But I personally saw him today and told him not to leave anywhere!"

"Don't know, doctor, he hasn't showed up yet!"

"I see," Spivey nodded to the unseen partner and closed the door. He didn't have to explain anything since Chip heard everything from the start.

"What can you say about Mitchell, Doctor?" Chip's voice sounded restrained and dry but his senses were boiling. Was this it, that is, him? Maybe after the long search and numerous interviews he finally found the mouse he chased this night? Chipmunk quickly scanned the information in Mitchell's file. Height, fur color, age ― everything fit the killer's portrait. And the fact that after talking to Dr. Spivey Mitchell disappeared was more telltale than any fingerprints.

"What can I say? That he's good and diligent worker. On friendly terms with the colleagues but keeps aloft somewhat ― the effect of severe hardships he experienced as a child. Became an orphan very early and for a long time his way of life wasn't very decent. Struggle for survival and all the attending procedures, you know…"

Chip was sincerely amazed. "But how a rodent with such biography got a job here? I heard the job seekers have to pass a very strict selection…"

Spivey nodded. "It's true. But in the beginning, when there weren't many applicants…"

"Excuse me, Doctor Spivey…"

"Call me Kurt, Mister Chip. Since you call even Doctor Stone by name, it's strange for you to call me in full rank order."

"Then you call me just Chip, too. So, Kurt, I am basically familiar with the way things were in the beginning, but still I don't fully understand…"

"Don't go on, Chip, you are absolutely right. He couldn't really expect to get a prestigious job with the biography of his, not to mention such a responsible position as a hospital worker. And Doctor Stone didn't want to take him. I insisted on him getting this job."

"Really?" chipmunk raised his eyebrows, amazed not so much with the fact that the famous doctor pleaded for a street criminal, as with the similarities between Mitchell's and Mildred's stories.

"Exactly. You see, I… Well, my life started in the slums, too, and I have first-hand knowledge of the conditions there. But unlike many, probably even most of my acquaintances there, I had a dream to escape from there, to achieve something in life, to become a full-grown person and not spend my entire life as a refuse rodent. And I did, and I'm here before you.

"That is, I'm there, sitting at the table listening to just another story of just another job seeker. And then suddenly I realize that I'm looking at myself. And at the same time I realize that if there's a chance for us to really thank the destiny for a princely gift, then this is it, right here and now. I simply knew I must help this guy out of the bog where he would return after the refusal, this time probably forever. No, I had my share of doubts about Mitch, but I decided to give him a chance. And for all this time he didn't give me a handle to question the correctness of that my decision. That's why now I am… I'm stunned, because his disappearance, especially after our conversation, can mean only one thing…"

"Yes, Kurt," Chip finished for him. "That's why I'm urgently requesting you to send to nurseman Mitchell's house a couple of orderlies, the stronger the better. Or even three of them. Just in case."

"Yes-yes, Chip, I'll be right…" Spivey began, but then there was a knock at the door and there was no more need to send anyone to Mitchell's house. He came by himself. But a single glance at him was enough to consider the option of calling the orderlies here, this time for another reason.

The ambulance nurseman was a horrible sight. There was a huge bruise swelling under his left eye and the bloodstained pieces of cotton wool were sticking out of his smashed nose. The lower lip was bashed, too, and bled despite the plaster applied to it, covering the collar of his dark-blue uniform coat with brown stains.

"Good day, my name is…" Mitchell said turning to Chip, but Dr. Spivey was the first to react.

"MITCHELL?! What happened?! What's with you?!"

"Please, Doctor Spivey, don't mind it…"

"No way, Mitchell!" Chip joined in. "You'll have to explain this!"

"Mister Chip, this has nothing to do…"

"It's up to us to decide what's important and what's not!" the hamster broke him off. "And you won't leaving this room until you tell us everything! Am I right, Chip?"

"Absolutely," Chip confirmed. "Speak, Mitchell, and don't withhold anything! It would be only worse for you. Go on."

"Well…" the nurseman hesitated. "In short, I fought."

"Thank you very much, Mitchell, but we've already guessed that you haven't cut yourself while shaving," Chip observed seeing that Mitchell wasn't too willing to cooperate. "Details, please. When, with whom, why?"

"Twenty minutes ago, Turkle, because of Wash-It," Mitchell punctuated.

"Wash-It? You mean Washy, the janitor?" Chip's lips formed a thin line. "How dare you to call him like that?!"

The nurseman shook his head. "I don't! Turkle does. That's why we fought!"

"Really?" Rescue Ranger asked noticeably kinder, feeling sincere sympathy towards this nurseman.

"Yes, Mister Chip, exactly. You see, after meeting Doctor Spivey I went to tell my guys, that is, other members of my ambulance team, not to wait for me in case of emergency and leave without me. And on my way back through garage I saw Turkle running into Washy. Then he shouted 'Are you blind, Wash-It?! Yesterday you covered me with garbage, and now you stepped on my toe! I'll show you', grabbed Washy by his coat and started shaking him. So, I ran up to them and told Turkle to stop it and put him back down. He grew even angrier then, said that 'Wash-It deserved the good scolding long ago' and that I should go away if I value my health. Then I told him to stop calling Washy with that offensive name. After these words Turkle became totally mad, yelled at me for being 'another one', let Washy go and hit me in the face twice…"

"TWICE?! Looks more like he boxed with you for ten rounds!"

"No, Mister Chip," Mitchell smiled though he'd better not to, because it made the wound on his lip even more pronounced. "Just two short punches, not even with full force. If he boxed with me for ten rounds, I wouldn't be talking with you now."

Chip remembered the orderly's mighty frame and agreed. "Yes, Mitchell, I think you are right. Kurt, don't you think this is too much?"

"You are right, Chip, that's way beyond any limits. I'll talk to Turkle immediately and, most probably, impose a disciplinary penalty on him along with fee…"

"FEE?! Even dismissal is too little for that!"

"That's, basically, true, but you see, Turkle is actually a very good worker and it's only the first such episode…"

"Second," Chip corrected the hamster. "The first one was yesterday, when me and Turkle almost fought in similar situation. You can ask Millie, that is, Nurse Munkched and Orderly Garding. They saw everything."

"Oh, I see," Mitchell said. "So that's what Turkle meant saying 'you too'. I didn't get it then…"

"Yes, Mitchell, sorry about that. Turns out, you suffered because of me, too…"

"Forget it, Mister Chip, I suffered because I'm three times smaller than Turkle!" Mitchell answered. All three of them smiled to this half-joke, half-truth, and the tension in the room relieved significantly.

"Well, Mitchell," Chip drove up to the nurseman and shook his paw, "I'm glad to meet you. You are very brave and honest guy. That's quite a deed to stand up for someone called an offensive nickname, especially if the opponent is much bigger than you."

"That's because I came to hate such nicknames since the early childhood," Mitchell explained. "I also had some of those, so foul that I won't repeat them, so I know very well how it feels. That's why I cut in."

"That was very noble on your side, Mitchell," Spivey observed. "I'm proud to work along with the mice like you! Thank you!"

"Don't mention it, boss," Mitchell answered. He turned to the door to leave, but Chip stopped him.

"Mitchell, wait."

"Yes, Mister Chip?"

"I must admit that after everything you told us and everything you did I'm sorry to ask you, but the situation demands it. Where were you last night between 10 PM and 3 AM?"

Perplexed Mitchell looked at Chip, then at Spivey.

"I was at home."

"Can anybody confirm it?"

"Well, I met an elder couple from the hole across the corridor when I was returning from the hospital."

"When was it?"

"Around 8 PM."

"In other words, nobody can confirm that you were at home between 22 PM and 3 AM?"

"I live alone."

"But maybe somebody still saw you? Friends, maybe? A neighbor coming to borrow some salt?"

"No, Mister Chip, nothing like this. The day was hard and I went to bed some time around 9 PM. My today's shift starts at 8 and I have to get up early to make it in time since I live at…"

"The bakery on the corner of Greenwich-street and Baker-street," Chip finished.

Mitchell's eyes widened. "How do you…?"

"From your file," Rescue Ranger pointed at the folders covering the table.

"Oh, yes, sure…"

"Okay, Mitchell, thanks for your assistance. I won't hold you up too long because you need urgent assistance with the wound on your lip. It's bleeding again."

"Is it?! Oh, then I'll be running! Goodbye, Mister Chip! Goodbye, Doctor Spivey!"

The nurseman left the room in a hurry, and Spivey turned to Chip who drove back to the table.

"Mister Chip, would you please explain why you…"

"How do you think, Kurt, it could have been Mitchell?"

"I can vouch with my reputation that it's not him," Spivey answered confidently.

"Me too, Kurt," Chip nodded putting the folder with Mitchell's file aside. "First, he has no motive since the hospital created by Mister Harold gave him a new hope in life. Do you agree?"

"I do."

"Second, the rodent capable of such selfless and noble deed can't be a vicious killer, right?"

"Most certainly."

"And the third," Chip paused theatrically, "the real killer would have come up with much better alibi, don't you think?"

"Yes, indeed!" Spivey exclaimed. "You don't stop impressing me, Chip! You are true professional and it's a real pleasure even to just watch you in action, not to mention helping you…!"

"Thank you. As for help, time to call in the next one. Name's Mousekewitz, anesthesiologist from surgery section…"

When the last, eighteenth folder was placed on the 'done' pile, exhausted Chip leaned back in the wheelchair and sighed loudly. After many hours of hard work he felt like squeezed dried fruit. But there was no time to even dream of having a rest. Today's results, that is, their lack, meant that the work is only beginning.

"What do you think of it, Kurt?" he asked looking at the ceiling.

"What can I say? If you let them all go, then nobody has anything to do with it, if I get it right."

"You can say so," chipmunk agreed, thinking frantically of what to do next. Surely he can start checking the alibi of those five employees matching the description of the intruder the most. Martinez, for instance. Check whether he had an opportunity to leave the house under some plausible pretext…

But that was the whole point. Sure, he could leave the house, for instance, to get the needed medicine or bandages from his apartment. But the point was, he could do so for a short time only, not for two hours needed to get from Union-Square, where the delivery was taking place, to the hospital and back…

Still he so suited the description imbedded in Chip's mind it wasn't even funny. Height, constitution, physical condition, professional qualification, after all. Not to mention working in the rehabilitation section. In other words, ideal suspect. Even Mitchell, despite suitable parameters and absence of alibi, wasn't a match for him. But, just like the ambulance nurseman, Martinez seemed to lack a motive…

Motive.

Chip opened his eyes. That was it. The direct approach didn't get him anywhere, so it was time to try another one. For instance, transform the main question "who had an opportunity to do it?" into "who was interested in this?" No, shorter: "Why?" Or even better: "What for?" Who could owe a grudge to Mr. Harold who did more to the rodents of this city than anyone else (probably with the sole exception of Chip's team)? This hospital was indeed much more than just a medical facility. It was a new hope, both for all those who previously had no chances to survive and for those who, like Mildred, Mitchell and Dr. Spivey, got a chance to fulfill themselves, do something really important and not to vanish in the bog as Kurt put it…

_Oh, boy…!_

How hadn't he thought of it before?!

---

"…_He found Doctor Stone and persuaded him to become the director of SCH. He and Dr. Stone together conducted all the interviews with first portion of job seekers. I was among them. You know, Mr. Harold believed in me right away. Somehow he was sure that I was right person for this job and I'd do well…"_

---

That's Millie's words…

Harold Bucksup believed in her, that's why she was here. But who knows in how many other applicants he didn't believe? How many were rejected? How many put up with it? How many didn't? Maybe among the first applicants was someone who, like Millie and Mitchell, regarded the newly created hospital as an opportunity to fulfill his dream and for whom rejection was a real catastrophe which put an end to all the hopes? Or a big blow for his pride? Or even a personal insult?

And so the rejected applicant, whose best feelings suffered great insult, nurtures a plan of revenge and waits for an opportunity to present itself. It takes six months but it's worth the wait, and Harold Bucksup is taken to the hospital. That's even better for his death would be more symbolic this way. He thought everything out and doesn't doubt his success for a second.

But then His Majesty Accident interferes along with the crippled chipmunk armed with crutches and riding the racing wheelchair. But the criminal manages to get away and crawls back into his burrow cursing the fate for the failure of his plan but at the same consoling himself that this is not the end. That his day will come. That he will strike his blow. In other time, in other place, but he surely will…

"KURT!!!" Chip yelled so loudly and unexpectedly that Spivey almost fell from his chair.

"What happened, Chip?!"

"Immediately, I repeat, immediately send somebody to Doctor Stone! Two or three orderlies, no less!"

The hamster's fur stood on its end as if after current rush making the doctor look like ball.

"WHAT?! You think it was Stone?! But you said…"

"No, Kurt, I don't think Stone tried to kill Mister Bucksup. I think he can be the next victim!"

"What are you talking about, Mister Chip…" the doctor babbled, his eyes wide with terror.

"Quickly, Kurt! I'll explain everything later!"

The hamster ran out of the room like a bullet. Chip clenched his fists till they hurt, repeating under his breath "If only it weren't too late, if only it weren't too late…"

*** 2 ***

"Harvey, dear!"

"Yes, Martha?" Stone shouted without looking away from the printouts scattered on the table in front of him. After coming home he had a breakfast and went to sleep, but got up after just four hours being physically unable to sleep after the noon. But he promised himself to go to sleep earlier this evening to get ready to another who-knows-how-many-hours-long shift the next day and now was studying the tomography results of the patient delivered yesterday at night.

"The dinner is almost ready!" Martha shouted from the kitchen. "Could you take the garbage out? I've got a whole pile of potato rinds here."

"In a minute!" the doctor answered. He made a couple more notes in his notebook, placed all materials back into the folder and went down on the first floor.

"What smells so delicious here?" he asked entering the kitchen.

"Shepherd's pie with cheese, your favorite!"

"You are too generous!" Harvey said tenderly. He embraced his wife and kissed her cheek. "Is there a holiday today?"

"Any day when you come home early enough for breakfast is a holiday for me," Martha answered with assumed strictness. She accepted her husband's intensive routine long time ago, not to mention that prior to the building of the SCH, when Dr. Harvey Stone was the only doctor in the area, it was even worse.

"I'm sorry, but this time the situation was really exceptional."

"Yes, I understand. And, you know, I'm― I'm scared. Not too much but still scared."

"Don't worry, darling. Mister Chip will sort everything out. Harold's ward is guarded, nothing will happen to him."

"I know, but… But the mere thought that one of the hospital workers can be a criminal…"

"Well, as for me, I don't believe it. After all, all of them passed through me and I consider myself not the worst judge of character out there. I'm more than certain that it was a stranger."

"But Harvey, that's even worse! It means that anybody can come to the hospital and…"

"Trust me, darling, we do everything possible. I won't let it happen again in my hospital. Do you believe me?"

"I do, Harvey. I do."

"Good girl!" Stone smiled, kissed his wife once again and looked around. "Where is the garbage?"

"There, at the door," Martha pointed the spatula she was holding at the big package in the corner.

"Oh, I think we'll need a whole team of movers here!" Harvey exclaimed trying to lift the package. Despite its large size the package wasn't heavy at all, only cumbersome, and Stone grabbed it with both hands.

"Don't press it to yourself! It's wet!" Martha warned him.

"Too late!" Stone answered.

Stepping out on the porch he breathed the crisp air deeply. It was forty-five degrees, no more. He pulled his collar up and dragged himself to the garbage cans behind the corner. He and Martha lived in the administrative building built in the first years of the previous century, now surrounded by modern office cubes made of glass and steel. The garbage cans stood in the end of short path branching away from the narrow lane running between the buildings. Humans only rarely showed here and Stone wasn't concerned of running into them. The alley cats were another matter…

Stone warily peeked around the corner. There were no felines in the area so he went to the container. He put his package down on the ground and fetched a long ladder from under the paper pieces scattered under the wall. He had been long thinking about constructing some kind of catapult here but could never get around to it…

He sighed, picked up the package and started climbing the ladder which seemed higher and higher with each passing year. The age takes its toll, not to mention yesterday's troubles…

The garbage bag thrown into the container, Stone removed the ladder and covered it back with the scraps of old newspapers and fallen leaves brought by wind from the nearby street. Those who know about the ladder will find it with no problems…

"Doctor Harvey Stone?" a hoarse voice sounded from behind.

Stone turned around. "Yes, that's me."

*** 3 ***

The working day was at its height and the city streets were full of cars and pedestrians hurrying on their business. But if you stepped off from the crowded avenue and walk some, you would find yourself in another world, full of tranquility and silence broken only by seldom sounds of car horns audible even here or rumble of wheels of a cable car passing by. Here, behind the curtains of bright shop-windows and polished facades another life was brewing, invisible for the blindfolded eyes of common people but very turbulent nevertheless, though many times quieter. That's why the roar of up-rated electric engine could be heard several hundred feet away, warning the rodent pedestrians to hug the walls and let the ambulance car pass, rushing to the most important and urgent call in the history of Small Central Hospital.

It was one of the two ambulances Gadget built from a single remote controlled model of 8-wheeled all-terrain vehicle. It looked almost identical to its human counterpart except for disproportionately large wheels, absence of rotating beacons and plain grey paint it was colored with. Wide wheels were necessary to move through backstreets and backyards abundant in potholes, while the beacons and catchy red and white color scheme would have attracted unneeded attention only. Sure, the grey metal box rushing by wasn't inconspicuous to say the least, but right now the vehicle's secrecy was the last thing bothering its five passengers.

"Come on, Ferdie, faster!" Orderly Garding shouted for the hundredth time. Doctor Spivey assigned him the head of the search-and-rescue group sent after Dr. Stone, that's why he was sitting in the front seat. Three other rodents, two paramedics and another orderly substituting temporary disabled Mitchell, were in the back.

"I'm already driving as fast as I can!" Ferdinand Snorkel answered once again. He was a frail grey mouse wearing large leather cap, coat and gloves of the same color and material and goggles like those worn by the first racers. Only thick white scarf waving behind him was missing to make the picture complete. All these attributes looked funny in the cockpit of the ambulance van, but no hospital worker, even Turkle, ever laughed at the feeble-looking driver. He had all the rights in the world to wear such clothes since he was a real master of his craft. He knew the driving technique and the city map like his four fingers and could reach any point of the city in a jiff. That's why Dr. Spivey sent his team.

"How far are we?"

"Three blocks," Snorkel answered swinging the steering wheel to the left and pressing the foot-throttle right away, starting to accelerate before finishing the turn. The 4x4 drive allowed this and so he won another couple of precious fractions of a second. Garding didn't know how much time Ferdie had saved by all those tricks on the verge of skidding, but he felt that if another, less experienced driver had been behind the wheel, they would have been at least one block farther away from their destination.

"Okay, hold on everybody!" the driver shouted directing the vehicle into the ark on the other side of the backyard. "Here comes the hard part!"

The passengers didn't have time to ask what he meant. The ambulance drove out on the sidewalk and they saw it themselves. It was a crowded public garden in the center of the square, with the building the Stones lived in situated on the opposite side. On the one hand, such a crowded place provided good excuse for their auto since anyone noticing it would immediately assume it was a child's toy. On the other hand, driving here demanded extreme concentration and filigree precision of maneuvering. Still, the reliable and tested car coupled with Ferdie's driving talent allowed to hope for successful outcome of this race among the moving obstacles.

"Where are you going?!" Garding yelled when Snorkel directed the van right in the middle of a footway. "You'll hit someone!"

"Here I won't," the driver answered shortly and the further events proved he was absolutely right. This seemingly mad way of driving across the crowded park had many irrefutable advantages. First, the aforementioned 'disguise behind the obviousness'. Second, the pedestrians saw the incoming vehicle and stepped aside. Third, you didn't need to waste time and nerves maneuvering around the benches and trashcans. They still had to drive carefully, but this way was indeed simpler and faster. Nobody tried to catch them or interfere with their movement, and only handful of people pointed at them, mostly boys who immediately started the good old "Mommy, I want the same thing, too!" routine.

"As you can see, there's nothing to fear!" Ferdinand observed when the ambulance left the public garden limits.

"You are genius, Ferdie!" Garding said patting the driver's shoulder.

"Genius or not, but I knew some tricks," he answered and a shadow of smile visited his lips for the first time during the ride. But just a shadow, because while there were just some four hundred feet to go, there were also the tracks between them and their destination with two cable cars moving in the opposite directions.

"Ferdie, you aren't going to…" Garding began, pointing his finger at the rapidly disappearing gap between the cable cars into which they were driving.

"We'll get through," Ferdie interrupted him.

"Ferdie-e-e…"

"We'll get through."

"FERDIE-E-E!" all the passengers shouted at once when there was no more than a yard left to the wheels of the nearest cable car.

"Won't get through," Snorkel said thoughtfully, his voice completely unchanged. He hit the brakes and turned the wheel to the right limit. The ambulance screeched but obeyed and went along the narrow path between two tracks.

"It's catching up…" Garding observed looking at the scoop of the cable car, whose reflection in the rearview mirror grew larger and larger.

"It won't hit us," Ferdinand answered. Everybody thought that the last words they would hear in their lives would be Snorkel's calm "It will hit us…", but this time the driver turned out right from the first attempt and turned left behind the cable car moving in the opposite direction the very moment the scoop of the second car touched the back side of the van.

"Ferdie, you― don't ever do this again…" Garding whispered, his face being almost the same color as his pale gray shirt.

The driver shrugged. "We'll see."

They turned into the lane between the old administrative building and adjacent office tower. Snorkel braked right in front of the door of Apartment 31 and the whole team jumped out. The three rodents from the back of the one remained at the car, nervously glancing around and catching their breath after nervous trip while Garding ran up to the doors and knocked so hard they barely withstood it.

"I'm coming!" the female voice sounded from the inside and Martha appeared on the threshold.

"Missis Stone?" the orderly asked, panting heavily.

"Yes, that's me. Who are you?"

"I need to see to Doctor Stone immediately! Did he return from the hospital?"

"Yes, but now he isn't here."

"Where did he go? How long ago?"

"He went to carry the trash out some ten minutes ago. You know, that's strange, he usually comes back by this time…"

"Where is it?!"

"What?"

"Where do you carry out the trash?!" Garding didn't even try to hard his panic now.

"To the trash cans. There, behind the corner," Martha waved down the narrow path with the kitchen towel he was holding. "But what…"

Garding didn't listen, though. He darted to the van on all his four, yelling at the others to get in the car. Not wasting any time, he jumped on the footboard of the driver's door.

"Quickly! Around the corner!" he shouted to Snorkel gripping the rearview mirror in order not to fall down. The driver immediately pressed the foot-throttle. The van darted forward leaving the black tracks of burned tires on the asphalt.

"What's going on here?" Mrs. Stone finally asked the question which had been on the tip of her tongue since she opened the door but there was nobody else to hear it anymore.

*** 4 ***

The looks of the stranger standing in front of Doctor Stone matched his hoarse voice perfectly. The broad-shouldered male mouse of indeterminate age with dark hair, combed but still chaotically protruding in all directions. Nondescript face and unpretentious grey coat, slightly brighter than the Stone's. Stranger's left hand dangled freely along his body while his right one was in the pocket, its fingers actively manipulating something in there. The epitome of ordinariness and unobtrusiveness, somehow he still seemed familiar to the doctor.

"You don't recognize me, doctor, do you?" the stranger asked making one step in Stone's direction.

"I must admit I don't," Stone answered, trying hard to remember where he could have seen this face. "You were one of my patients? If so, then excuse me, please, you see…"

"…you can't remember everyone, yes, doctor?" the male mouse bowed his head on one side and grinned, coming one more step closer. "But don't blame yourself. I wasn't your patient and you saw me only once. But our meeting played too important role in my life for me to forget it."

"Sorry, but I don't quite understand…"

"Does name 'Cheeseman' speak to you?"

"Cheeseman, Cheeseman… Wait… Matt Cheeseman?"

"Mike," the stranger corrected, stepping up closer.

"Yes-yes, sure, Mike, I'm sorry. You applied for a job sometime in May…"

"Fourteenth of May, to be precise," Cheeseman took another step and now there was no more than three inches between them.

"If I remember correctly, you wanted to become a nurseman. But you had no experience whatsoever…"

"Just like the majority of those accepted," Cheeseman grinned showing yellowish teeth and the fingers of his right hand, still hidden inside the pocket, started moving faster. "Didn't they, Doctor Stone?"

Harvey made a helpless gesture. "They had some other advantage, then. After all, we can't accept everybody…"

"I understand," Cheeseman nodded coming close to the old doctor. "But you too must understand what I felt. The medicine always attracted me as the real opportunity to make life of those around me better. I saw too many sufferings and too many rodents who lost their dear ones forever. I felt I had to do something, you see? At least SOMETHING!"

Stone nodded. "I understand you perfectly, Mike. I too chose this way to make our world at least slightly better. I can't say I made a breakthrough there but I managed to do something and…"

"Me, too," Cheeseman answered. "You know, I have been trying to meet you for a long time now, but your working schedule is too intense and unpredictable. But I didn't back off and, as you can see, finally succeeded in my little project. I didn't become a doctor but I DID become the one who can make this world better. At first I thought that your rejection spelled the death of my dream, but then I realized it wasn't the case. That I just needed to look at it from another point of view or, speaking professionally, foreshortening. That's why I came here to…"

His final words were deafened by the roar suddenly coming from behind. Cheeseman looked around just in time to see the grey van driving sideways from around the corner and stopping just a few inches away from the two of them, and a pale grey uniform of a large rat jumping at him from the foothold. After that he saw nothing but an asphalt for some time, pressed into the ground by the weight of orderly's body.

"Hey, what…? What's this?! What's happ― OUCH! IT HURTS!!!" Cheeseman lamented when Garding twisted his hands and pressed them to his back.

"Doctor Stone, are you okay?!" two paramedics shouted jumping out of the van. They ran up to the confused old doctor who stood with his mouth wide open, trying in vain to keep an eye on all the events taking place in front of him. Only when the paramedics started twisting and turning him in search of possible injuries did he came to his senses.

"What's going on here?!" he asked in his ordinary bossy tone. "Garding! What does it mean?! Hey, you, stop turning me! Will somebody explain what the point is?!"

"It's him, doctor," Garding explained motioning at his opponent nailed to the ground. Cheeseman tried to fight but orderly applied a painful hold. Then he grabbed the stranger's clenched fist.

"Show it to me!" he ordered. Cheeseman obeyed and two small metallic balls fell on his back. They looked like those used in human key ring "labyrinth" trinkets.

"What's this?! Answer!"

"My balls…" Cheeseman muttered.

"I can see they aren't cubes myself!" Garding snapped. He put the trophies in his pocket and stood up. "Get up, foul murderer! You're coming with us!"

"Where?! What for?! Who's the murderer?!" Cheeseman realized that the orderly was no longer sitting on him and tried to break loose, but Garding didn't relaxed his grip even for a second and his attempts failed. Seeing that Cheeseman wasn't too eager to get up, Garding roused him by force and shook violently. There was a metallic clang, and everybody looked at the item fallen from under Cheeseman's coat ― a short knife with a sharp thin blade and plastic handle.

"So that's how you'd have done it, yes?!" Garding asked, his eyes turned into bloodshots.

"What does it mean?!" Stone asked again, looking from the orderly to the shining blade and back.

"It's him, doctor," the rat-orderly answered. "Mister Bucksup's unaccomplished murderer. And yours, too."

"Mine?" the old mouse asked. "That is… I don't understand… But how… How did you…"

"Mister Chip sent us, doctor. And as you can see, we came right in time. Another minute and he would have stabbed you!"

"I wouldn't have stabbed anyone!" Cheeseman shouted. "What are you talking about?! It's a mistake! I'll explain everything!"

"Oh sure you will, don't doubt that. You'll tell Mister Chip everything. Let's ride!" Garding picked up the knife, twisted Cheeseman's hands even stronger and led him to the van's opened doors. "And don't think of any tricks or I'll make you toe the line! Understood?!"

"It's an outrage! Abduction! Somebody, help!" Cheeseman yelled but this his shouts, like all those before them, didn't help at all.

"So you mean…" Stone stammered and looked at the paramedics, perplexed.

"Doctor Spivey and Mister Chip will explain everything," one of them answered. "Please, get in the cabin, next to driver."

"Yes, yes, good… But first I must go home and tell my wife…"

"Sure, doctor, let's go!"

"Well-well," Stone muttered taking the seat next to Ferdie. "I asked Chip to keep me informed, but not that first-hand…"

*** 5 ***

The atmosphere in the headquarters of investigation led by Chip was never too joyful, but at the moment it was totally oppressive. During morning questionings the windows were opened for short periods of time only, and the air was so dense with questions waiting to be answered, suspicions of different grades of reasonableness and the charges never brought that it could be easily sliced with knife. Like the one lying on the table in front of Chip along with two metal balls, Cheeseman's handkerchief and a tray with covered dishes ― Chip's dinner, still untouched. He was too nervous to eat waiting for the team he sent after Dr. Stone to return. Chip was ready to hear the worst news, but the result of this tour exceeded his highest expectations.

At the moment this 'result' was sitting in front of the Rescue Ranger under vigilant supervision of Garding whose main task was to keep the suspect seated. The room's door was sealed by Turkle's mighty torso. Stone and Spivey, as witnesses of inquest, sat on the sofa to Chip's left, guarded by another two orderlies. Everybody was silent. Even Cheeseman, who had been shouting during the entire ride back, sat silently, exhausted, staring on the floor for the most part. Only occasionally he raised his head to glance on silent Chip with a mixture of fear, awe and curiosity. After all, you don't get a chance to observe a patient in a wheelchair issuing orders not only to orderlies but to the heads of the principal medical center for rodents.

"Who are you? What do you want from me?" Cheeseman asked at last. Chip didn't answer and didn't even look at him, continuing to examine the confiscated weapon. It was a knife cut from the blade which was previously a part of some safety razor cartridge. One of its ends was stuck into the plastic handle, probably a part of the same cartridge, while another one had been sharpened so that one could not only cut but also stab with it. Crude but effective.

"Mister Chip, listen, I'm not…"

"Your name," Chip interrupted him. His voice was quiet but Cheeseman broke off and drooped as if colliding with an invisible wall. Not a single muscle moved on Chip's face, though it took him great effort to hold back a triumphant smile. The technique described in the book about intelligence agents was effective all by itself, and after being tested on twelve most promising candidates for the role of night visitor it was working out smoothly.

"Mike Cheeseman. Listen…"

"Address."

"26th Street, Building 155, Burrow 15. Could you explain…"

"Why did you change a syringe for a knife, Mister Cheeseman?"

The suspect gave a start and looked up, caught by surprise by this question asked in the same matter-of-fact manner as the previous two. Chip was looking directly at him, not into the eyes but into the center of his forehead, and Cheeseman couldn't catch his glance no matter how he tried. As a result, he grew even more nervous and lowered his eyes to hide somehow from this glare directed not at but into him.

"I don't know what you are talking about. It's an outrage," he mumbled.

"You don't know, you say? Good, I'll ask it differently then. What's the name of the drug you tried to kill Mister Bucksup with?"

"I didn't want to kill anybody," Cheeseman answered, still staring at the floor. "No one. Neither Doctor Stone, as this bully suggests, nor Harold Bucksup…"

"Then how do you know I'm talking about HAROLD Bucksup, huh?!"

All spectators strained and prepared for any kind of trick the criminal could spring on them now, when he betrayed himself. But Cheeseman still managed to surprise them. No, he didn't jump up and attack Chip. Didn't cry blue murder or fell down in adoration, begging for forgiveness. He didn't even raise his head, just asked in a dull voice.

"Is there any other Harold Bucksup in town, whose health is such a big deal?"

Chip had to admit Cheeseman was right, but didn't become confused at all.

"I must admit, you are right with that. But you too must admit that you wanted to murder Doctor Stone and went to his house armed with the knife. Very neat design, I must say! Lightweight, handy, unnoticeable under coat… Agreed, Mister Cheeseman?"

"I don't understand what you are talking about. I repeat, I didn't want to murder anyone. Not anyone! Why would I want to murder Doctor Stone? What for?"

Chip leaned back in his wheelchair and crossed his arms on his breast. "Okay, if you insist, I'll explain to you. This year, at the beginning of May, owing to Mister Harold Bucksup III the Small Central Hospital was created, where we have an honor to be at this very moment. The personnel recruitment was announced shortly thereafter, and you was one of the first to know about it since building number 155 on 26th Street is only four blocks away from here. Just like many others, you saw this hospital as a unique opportunity to, well, let's say to get out of the bog of wretched existence on the outskirts of life. Or, maybe, to make something to change the world around you for better, to help those in need not verbally but in practice…"

"Mister Chip, that's incredible…" Stone muttered, his fists tightly clenched from agitation. "You― you repeat our conversation almost word for word! As though you had been not in this room but in that garbage can! It's… I'm speechless…"

"Thank you, doctor," Chip nodded and looked at Cheeseman waiting for him to plead guilty under the weight of evidence. But the apprehended rodent sat still and in silence, even blinking twice as sparse as before.

Chip went on. "So here you are, full with hopes, going to the hospital. The queue isn't too long, because, to tell the truth, there isn't too many of those who believe in this project's success, even despite Harold Bucksup III, the richest mouse in the city is involved. Even more so, Mister Harold himself has to conduct the interviews with the job seekers, which is another proof that the road before you is opened. Who can say 'no' to such an enthusiast as you? It's simply impossible, especially since there are so few contenders. And so you enter the cabinet where two rodents are sitting: Harold Bucksup III, the SCH founder, and Doctor Harvey Stone, the SCH head. They tell you to sit down and start asking you standard questions, time and again making some notes. You try to remain calm, but simply burn with expectation to hear the magic words 'we accept you…'"

_Still nothing…_ Chip thought when Cheeseman didn't react. _Tough guy. Or, maybe, quite the opposite, totally wrecked. It's hard to tell exactly…_

"Finally the patron and the doctor run out of questions. They exchange glances, and one of them," Chip thought for a moment, "most probably Doctor Stone, tells you that you without any doubt possess many features needed for a medical worker and he would like to accept you very much, but… He pauses, makes a helpless gesture with his hands and says… Well, I don't know exactly what he told you, I'm not a magician, after all…" Chip allowed himself an ironic smile since he saw that at least ninety percent of his speculations hit the mark. "I think I won't make a very big mistake if I suppose it was something like 'you lack discipline'. Or tidiness. Or experience…"

The moment he said 'experience' Cheeseman and Stone flinched as if struck by lightning, and Chip rejoiced inwardly. It was his triumph, the true revenge for all mistakes and blunders he made in the last several days, and he enjoyed every moment of it.

"I don't know what happened next, Cheeseman. I don't know whether you said to them everything that was boiling inside you or not. Whether you called them the killers and the undertakers of your aspirations or just stood up and left. It's not really important. The thing is you remembered the faces of those who rejected you, and swore to come back here. This time not as an applicant but as the avenging angel."

Cheeseman flinched stronger than before and Garding prepared to grab him and force back onto the chair. But that was the only movement he made and the orderly put his hands away from the mouse's shoulders. Chip pretended not to notice it and went on.

"We don't know yet what drug exactly you used, Mister Cheeseman, but we know for sure where you brought it from. The human medicine storage in the second building of Central City Hospital. It's not too far away, just a short walk through the ventilation. Not the best place for sightseeing but still worth it if you came to kill the killer of your dream, isn't it, Mike? You thoroughly prepared and waited long for an opportunity to deliver your blow. Unfortunately, Doctor Stone's schedule is too busy and Harold Bucksup isn't easy to get close to. But you didn't back off, knowing for sure that your time would come.

"And then the news came like a bolt from the blue ― Harold Bucksup III is hospitalized in critical condition. The doctors' prognosis is unfavorable, but you aren't happy. No, you hadn't nurtured your revenge plans to let this arrogant rich mouse die his own death. You swore to kill him with your own hands. And you start acting.

"First of all, you get hold of SCH nurseman's uniform. Yes, nurseman's, not anyone else's, because it's not just a disguise but the symbol of your cruelly crushed hopes. And the syringe isn't just a medical instrument but a weapon of retribution. After several months of training you know how to use it perfectly, and now Mister Harold's dropper will learn it the hard way.

"Last night you sneaked into the hospital through the emergency exit. When the orderly on duty left his post to refresh himself, you creep down the corridor checking if all the patients are asleep. When you are sure nobody's watching, you enter Mister Harold's ward, grinning viciously under the mask, knowing that nothing and no one can stop you now…"

Chip paused to catch some breath and watch Cheeseman's reaction. The apprehended rodent remained still, the only moving part of his body being the head he pulled deeper and deeper into his shoulders as if trying to hide under his coat. Rescue Ranger couldn't see his face, but drops of sweat falling from his nose clearly showed he was on the edge and it would take a slight effort to break his resistance completely.

"If it consoles you, Cheeseman, you just got unlucky. Your plan was almost perfect and you calculated everything exactly. But, unfortunately for you, yours truly happened to sleep not very well this night and heard your footsteps in the corridor… You know, I hesitated to raise the alarm till the very last moment, but your caution played a nasty trick on you. You didn't turn on the lights in the ward to not attract attention and it betrayed you.

"When I caught you, you ran away. First you wanted to leave by elevator and escape through the roof, but saw me catching up and ran along the same route as you came in. I spent much time thinking why the killer ran not into the storage room and not to the second building, unreachable for a cripple in a wheelchair. I concluded that he _didn't know_ the map of ventilation there and decided to hide in the storeroom on the topmost shelves where I could never find him. And once again your luck rebelled against you and one of the steps of the makeshift ladder you used fell out pointing exactly at your hiding place. Then the storeman forcing me to hid under the closest shelving. Your shelving. Taht almost cost me my life but, as you can see, I'm safe and sound except for a little bruise. Don't worry, I have no grudge on you. I threw crutches at you, you threw the shelf of medicines on my head, so we are quits here… So, Cheeseman, should I go on or maybe you'll tell us the rest?"

Chip waited, but Cheeseman said nothing, just shrank some more.

Ranger chuckled. "Well, then I'll go on. The failure at the hospital didn't scare you, it made you even more enraged. Knowing that you wouldn't get to Mister Harold any time soon, and probably never, you decided to keep striking while the iron was hot and went after your other offender, Doctor Stone. Armed with a knife taken home, you went to his house. You didn't dare to wait him near the hospital fearing of being spotted by alarmed personnel. I think you didn't really your victim to fall into your hands so fast…"

"Yes, Chip, you are right," Dr. Stone interjected again. "He even asked me whether I was indeed Doctor Harvey Stone. You― you are genius!"

"No, Harvey," Chip answered, "just capable of adding two and two. And you, Cheeseman, overdid it again, like with that light. You should have hit and run away, but that isn't your style. You wanted not just to kill Doctor Stone but to make sure he KNOWS who's killing him and for what. Didn't you, Cheeseman? No need to answer, though, Doctor Stone already said it all when mentioned that I repeated your conversation almost word for word.

"Still, I can understand you. You are on an empty backstreet with nobody around but your ancient enemy whom you hunted for several months. Talking wouldn't make a big difference, especially since all the attention was turned to Harold Bucksup, and by the time we missed Doctor Stone, you would be too far away. So you are approaching your victim step by step, twisting and turning the handle of the blade in your pocket…"

"I was rolling my marbles," Cheeseman answered in a low voice.

"Marbles? These marbles?"

"Yes, my marbles."

"That's true," Garding confirmed. "When I grabbed him and forced his hand out of his pocket, he was holding these very marbles in his fist."

"Really?" This time Chip's surprise wasn't feigned. "And where was the knife?"

"In his coat's inner pocket," orderly answered. "It fell out when I shook him."

"Very interesting…" Chip took one of the balls and weighed it in his hand. It was too light to kill with, unless thrown with a sling, maybe…

But what if these balls aren't as simple as they seem?

Chip mentally compared ball's size with that of Dale's gas cufflinks. The ball was slightly bigger, which meant it could contain even larger quantity of some dangerous substance, from banal rat poison to another sophisticated medicine taken from the hospital storage. Ranger examined the ball closely but could see no slit indicating that it was composed of two halves.

Nevertheless, everything must be checked.

"Turkle!" chipmunk called.

"What?" the goon guarding the door asked.

"Please, take these marbles, step out into the corridor and throw them into the wall."

"What-what?" Turkle asked again. This request was the last thing he expected to hear.

"Please, take these marbles, step out into the corridor and throw them into the wall," Chip repeated.

Turkle looked at him and the marbles sparkling in the sunrays coming from the window, then turned to Stone and Spivey for confirmation.

"Do what you are told," the head doctor nodded. Orderly shrugged as if saying 'you are the boss here…', grabbed the marbles with his mighty fist and went to the door. When he was already on the threshold, Chip stopped him.

"Turkle, one more thing!"

"What now?"

"Try not to stand close to the wall you are throwing the balls at, okay?"

Turkle left the room with a loud and scornful snort, making Chip regret for a few seconds about warning him. Who knows, maybe it was indeed grenades…

Two loud knocks came from the corridor followed by the noise of fast running and chipmunk barely contained laughter when he imagined the large bulky orderly chasing the balls up and down the corridor. Other present rodents also imagined it and smiled, all but knuckled under Cheeseman and Doctor Stone nervously polishing his already shining glasses.

"So?" Chip asked when the sweating orderly returned.

"Nothing. Just pieces of iron," Turkle reported putting the balls covered with plaster back on the table. "If you wish, I can throw them harder."

"Thank you, Turkle, that's not needed," Chip assured him. "Besides, it seems to me that if you throw them harder, you'll never catch them."

Other orderlies who would never had courage to joke about Turkle in his presence roared with laughter. The goon, red with anger, shot a murderous glare at them, and they attempted to erase all traces of laughter off their faces. They managed to contain their laughter rather well, but the sparks of genuine joy in their eyes were way out of their control. Then Turkle turned to Chip, the source of all his miseries, but Rescue Ranger was too preoccupied with the suspect and didn't even look at him, so the large mouse had nothing to do but grit his teeth and return to his post at the door.

Meanwhile, Chip proceeded with interrogation.

"So you were talking with Doctor Stone while holding these marbles, right?"

"Yes," Cheeseman answered without looking up.

Chip hemmed distrustfully.

"Strange choice of weapon, I must say, taking into account the knife in your pocket. So how were you going to kill Doctor Stone with them?"

"I WASN'T GOING TO KILL ANYONE!!!"

Unexpectedly loud yell made everybody twitch involuntarily. The suspect jumped up and Chip prepared to parry his blow but Cheeseman didn't jump on him. He just stood, his fists clenched, giving his tormentor a piercing look, until Garding came to himself and shoved him back down. Mike tried to get up again, but the orderly pressed him down into the chair so strongly that the poor furniture creaked.

"I wasn't going to kill anyone…" Cheeseman repeated, once again curling up into a ball and dipping back into the bowels of his coat.

"Why were you clenching them in your fist during conversation with the doctor, then?"

"I wasn't clenching them. I was rolling them."

"What for?"

"It helps."

"Helps what?"

"It's an exercise, for fingers. And it calms, you know…"

"Exercise for fingers? Are you a piano player?"

"Artist."

"Really?" Chip's eyes narrowed down. "Nurseman today, artist tomorrow? You are quite an all-round person. But if you didn't want to kill Doctor Stone, what's that meeting was for? Please don't tell me you were just passing by his house."

Cheeseman shook his head. "I won't tell it. I really wanted to meet him."

"Why didn't you just come to the hospital then?"

"Didn't want to distract him from working. And didn't want our conversation to be interrupted by some emergency which wouldn't allow me to say Mister Stone everything I wanted."

"And what is that?" Chip leaned back again to listen to the suspect's story. Cheeseman didn't hurry to answer, and Chip pushed him.

"Come on, answer! What did you want to tell Mister Stone?!"

"Mister Chip," the old doctor made himself heard, "what if it's something personal? You are familiar with the concept of 'medical privacy', aren't you? Maybe I should talk with Mister Cheeseman in private…"

"No!" Cheeseman lifted his head and looked at Stone. "No, doctor, there is no secret here. It would be even better if everybody hear it. Especially," he turned to leader of Rescue Rangers again, "Mister Chip. I'm sure he'll find it interesting."

Chipmunk nodded. "No doubt of that. We're listening, Mister Cheeseman."

"Doctor Stone," Cheeseman began, turning to the old mouse. "I must admit that Mister Chip…" he looked at the Ranger again. Chip decided that these constant turns, which were very effective during cross examination, weren't needed anymore and asked Garding to turn Mike's chair so that he could see both of them at once. The orderly complied and Cheeseman thanked him as though it was his own idea.

"So," he went on, "I wanted to say that the picture drawn by Mister Chip is so plausible I almost believed in my guilt myself. His version is much easier to believe, especially since he has a very keen insight and guessed many things right. I don't care if you believe me or not, just like I don't care what you'll do to me. But Doctor Stone, I ought to say to you what I have wanted to say all this time and what I was saying when I was captured. I― I understand that after Mister Chip's words my story will seem improbable, but I assure you I didn't want to hurt you in any way. Quite the opposite, I wanted to thank you."

"But for what?" Stone asked, bewildered.

"For something which, according to Mister Chip, I should have wanted to kill you for. For you not giving me a job here."

The audience looked at each other, perplexed. Only Chip remained motionless, staring into a single spot in the center of the table and thinking where he made a mistake. The version he built looked solid like a brick wall, but now every single Cheeseman's word hit it like a rammer of giant excavator.

"I don't understand…" Stone said, alarmed with Cheeseman's seemingly senseless words and Chip's reaction to them.

"I'll explain," the suspect said. He noticed Chip's confusion, too, and felt himself confident, assumed a dignified air and spoke in almost the same voice as he did while talking with Stone at the trashcan. "Like I said, doctor, I viewed the new hospital as a chance to make the world around me better and really help at least somebody. And your rejection… It was hard. I spent days and nights in my burrow, not leaving it for weeks, because it was painful to see the world around and know that you are helpless. And to make my voluntary imprisonment not so dreary, I started drawing.

"I drew the world I wanted to live in, where there's no place for evil, violence and injustice. Where the sun is shining and happy smiling rodents wander the streets without fear of being murdered, robbed or eaten."

Cheeseman made a brief pause. "I worked on each figure and each face very hard, trying to pass on the feeling of safety and confidence unknown to those around me. After some time I began to draw not just abstract rodents but the portraits of my neighbors, trying to imagine how they would look like if they lived in my ideal world. Day after day, week after week I kept drawing and eventually there were piles of pictures cramming my dwelling. In the end I ran out of space for my new works and I decided to throw some of my oldest and worst pictures out. I took them to the nearest trash can and met my neighbor there who liked my pictures very much and wondered why I was disposing of such beauty. When I told him I have lots of other, much better ones in my hole he didn't believe me and asked to see them all. And I showed him my collection.

"He was astonished. He looked through pile after pile of my pictures, constantly expressing his amazement with the beauty and light of my imaginary world. Then he reached the portraits of our neighbors and mutual acquaintances and looked at each of them for quite some time, saying again and again 'yes, that's our Pete' or 'the old Louie looks just like the real one' and the like. Then he stopped and dropped on the floor all the pictures he was holding except the last one, depicting him and his wife… Excuse me, may I have some water?"

The artist emptied the glass brought by Garding and surveyed the audience who watched him silently. He smiled wryly at them listening so attentively to "the murderer caught red-handed".

"So, when he reached his and his wife's portrait he froze. He looked at it for long, long time, rotating it from side to side, and finally muttered: 'She's so beautiful here…' I told him he could take it and show her, that she would be pleased. And then he looked at me and said: 'She died last week…' That's how it happens… They lived right above me but I retired into myself and knew nothing about her death…

"I apologized for causing him pain, but he told me that he was happy. That he missed her greatly and now she returned to him. He left, clasping the picture to his breast, and I understood everything. Right there and then I realized what your rejection really meant. It wasn't a death sentence to my dream. It was a second chance for it. I don't know what guided you, doctor, some formal criteria or inner voice. Whatever it was, you did right thing. I would have been a bad nurseman. I have no experience whatsoever, not to mention I'm negligent and undisciplined, and most probably I would eventually have done something bad, not simply not helping but hurting patient's health, my dreams and the reputation of the hospital as a whole. But owing to your rejection I became the one I dreamt to be. The one who can really help those around him, and accomplish what no doctor and no medicine in the world can. Yes, I can't save their beloved ones from death, but I can bring him or her back to them."

"How?" Chip inquired with suspicion.

"How?" Mike asked. "And I thought that the detective like you will get it right away and much better than me myself!"

"You are referring to your pictures, it's as plain as two and two make four," Chip countered. "But what makes them so special? No, I see why they make you feel needed, useful and the like. But photographs do pretty much the same thing…"

"Photographs, you say?" Cheeseman sighed heavily, like a professor of mathematics forced to explain to his students the multiplication table. "No photograph can give you what the portrait made by artist will. Photograph shows only the body, the form. But artist draws the soul."

"The soul?" chipmunk asked in dull voice.

"The soul," the artist confirmed. "You think, my neighbor didn't have photographs of his wife? When she died he spent days looking at them he told me himself. But only on the portrait I made he saw her the way he used to see her all those years. He said just that: 'That's my Claire', even though I drew her not from life but the way she would have looked in my ideal world, that is happy, smiling and infinitely kind. She wasn't like that in life. They often had quarrels so loud they were heard through three walls. But it was her he saw on my portrait. His Claire. He saw her the way he saw her all this time. He saw not just an old female mouse he had married and lived with. He saw _his wife_."

"And how you do it?"

Cheeseman shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. I draw what I see. Certainly, this isn't enough, because artist's task is to reproduce not the form seen by everybody but the contents which are usually hidden. Everything is important: pose, clothes, lightning, background. Taken separately, these elements are silent because when you are alone, there's no one to talk to. But when they meet, they start talking, give each other advice and point out each other's shortcomings. Only when agreement is reached, you can say that the work is a success and the form depicted on the picture matches the real content…"

Cheeseman went on and on. Chip felt that everybody was looking at him, but kept staring right in front of him. He couldn't make himself lift his head and look into the eyes of the artist whom he depicted as the true devil incarnate without any reason at all.

On the other hand…

"Why did you bring the knife with you?" Chip asked when the artist stopped to take another sip of water.

"I always carry it with me."

"For what purpose?"

"I don't know about you, Mister Rescue Ranger, but I'm still able to distinguish the imaginary world where weapons aren't needed from the real one where it's totally necessary. Oh, yes, I forgot! You are a living legend, you can be pardoned…"

Everybody held their breaths waiting for Chip's answer. Even Cheeseman broke off and shrank somewhat, feeling that he went beyond the mark. But Chip didn't move. He heard it, certainly, and heard it very clear. Even too clear. He heard something else, actually, which nobody else heard.

Twittering of birds. Dull voice of the fountain. Laughter and joyful screams of people who decided to spend the hot June afternoon in the shade of the city park's trees…

---

"_Why— why is— why is this? Why are you doing all this?"_

"_Wmidunno, Chip. You asked me to."_

---

Everything is the same. Everything is repeating over and over again.

_Comes the morning and the headlights fade in rain_

_Hundred thousand changes...everything's the same_

Another place. Another audience. Another interlocutor. Hundreds and thousands of other differences of various relevance. But once again the most important stays the same. He still sees what he wants and not what really is. Once again he searches in the wrong place, chases ghosts and mirages on the horizon. Makes truly titanic efforts to dig through whole geological stratums in search of truth lying on the surface, only barely covered with fallen leaves…

"Mister Cheeseman, please, stand up."

The artist, both happy and alarmed with this sudden order, complied.

"Take off your coat."

"Mister Chip, I've been searched already."

"I know. Take it off."

Cheeseman looked sideways at Garding standing on guard behind him, shrugged as if saying "I'm doing what I'm told" and took his coat off. When he did it, Chip looked at him, not in the eyes but at the spot behind him. That way he could be sure that the artist wouldn't intercept his glance and easily examine what he should have checked from the very beginning but didn't because the version he built was too well-composed and logical to pay attention at such mere trifles as the suspect's constitution and shape.

Mike Cheeseman weren't some puny creature but it was obvious from the first sight that he wouldn't have endured the long and fast chase along the ventilation. His well-developed broad shoulders turned out being cotton wool stuffed under his coat and its white fibers stood out sharply against his dark grey fur. Chip noticed them right away but only now did he pay attention and make right conclusions. The artist was very sensitive to cold, probably due to metabolic derangement, inborn or gained as a result of long seclusion. Or maybe he just wanted to look stronger than poorly developed muscles and bulging belly allowed. It was physically impossible for Cheeseman to have been that night visitor running like wind down the air shaft and throwing down boxes full of medicines. And who, unlike Chip, hardened by many years of crime fighting, physically strong and armed with Gadget's inventions, had to rely on primitive homemade knife to have any hope to survive in their cruel world, the laws and rules of which even the Rescue Rangers couldn't change.

Or maybe, _especially_ the Rescue Rangers who, as Cheeseman put it, had long become the living legends and their leader developed the star fever? Yes, the star fever. How else can you explain the doubts he was having recently of continuing their work after having more or less dealt with Nimnul, Fat Cat and Capone? How else you can explain that he got bored with routine tasks which didn't let his intellect and detective's intuition act in full power? That he is no more interested in uncovering the deteriorated criminals?

But what if the point was him, not the criminals? What if they didn't deteriorate but he got a swelled head, thinking of himself as impeccable detective and strict but just judge at once? Like when he refused to help Midge 'just' to catch up with her flock and reach the winter stay area. Like now when he threw the blame for two attempted murders on the artist who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time without condescending to check neither his alibi nor even his physical ability to commit all those crimes…

"May I dress up?" Cheeseman asked, shaking. He was indeed too sensitive to cold.

"Yes, of course," Chip nodded.

"What now?"

"You may go, Cheeseman."

There was a unanimous sigh combining surprise, relief and disappointment.

"I may go?" the artist wondered. "That it, away? I mean, home?"

"Anywhere you want. You are free."

"May I take my marbles and knife?"

"You are welcome," Chip waved his hand. Mike slowly approached the table and reached for his possessions, still expecting a trap. But chipmunk made nothing to stop him. The artist's hand stayed in the air for a couple of seconds, then he quickly grabbed the confiscated belongings and shoved them into his pockets.

"Is that all?" he asked once again.

"Yes, that's all."

Cheeseman turned around and quickly went to the door but ran into Turkle still blocking the way.

"Let him go, Turkle," Chip asked without raising his voice. The orderly muttered something indistinguishable and stepped aside. Cheeseman grabbed the door knob but at this very moment the Rescue Ranger gave a start, as if waking up, and called:

"Mister Cheeseman!"

The artist twitched and shot a sorrowful glance at the corridor behind the door, then slowly turned around.

"But you said…"

"Yes, Mister Cheeseman, I know, but… Could you spare me a few minutes?"

"Do I have a choice?" Cheeseman motioned at Turkle, once again standing between him and the door.

"You do," Chip said. "You are indeed free to go wherever you want. But I would like to talk to you. It's not an order, Mister Cheeseman. It's a request."

The artist looked around the room, then at the door blocked by orderly and finally back at Chip. Rescue Ranger understood the hint and said confidently:

"Turkle, step away from the door."

"Are you sure?" the goon asked. "But he is…"

"Step away from the door!"

"Okay, okay…" Turkle showed no enthusiasm but obeyed. This time the artist didn't rush to leave the room, though. He looked around once again making sure that no one was attempting to stop him, and grabbed the door knob.

To shut the door back.

"Okay, Mister Chip, I'm listening."

"Thank you, Mister Cheeseman," Rescue Ranger nodded to him with appreciation, then spoke to everyone else.

"Please, leave us alone."

"Alone?!" Spivey shouted springing up. "Mister Chip, don't forget that he's armed!"

"I appreciate your concern, Kurt, but nevertheless I ask everyone but Mister Cheeseman to leave the room. Please." When nobody moved, Chip repeated. "Please."

"Well," Doctor Stone got up from the sofa, "let's go. Everybody out."

"But, boss…" Garding began.

"Did you hear what Mister Chip said?" Stone interrupted. "If his instruction isn't enough for you, here is mine: everybody out!"

The old doctor headed to the door. Spivey went after him and the others followed suit. The last to leave was Turkle who threw a grim glance at the chipmunk and the mouse. Then the door slammed shut and they were alone.

"Please, have a seat," Chip pointed at the chair.

"Thanks, but I'll better stand," Cheeseman said, remaining at the door in almost the same pose he said 'I'm listening', except for his right hand which was already in the pocket, habitually rolling marbles.

"Okay, it's your right."

"I'm glad you remembered about my rights," the former suspect observed caustically. "Better late then…"

"Then how, Mister Cheeseman? Then in human world?" Chip grinned, answering both Cheeseman's confused expression and his own idea of fingerprints analysis. "You know better than me that we don't have any police or courts and the only law here is the law of jungles. Though, in human world it's basically the same, trust me."

"But it doesn't mean you can grab anyone, shove him into the car and interrogate him!" the artist raised his voice. "After all, you and your tem are the embodiment of good and justice! Aren't you?"

"I hope so."

"But you act like gangsters…"

"Listen, Cheeseman!" Chip broke him off. "Just ten minutes ago you read me a lecture about the need to distinguish between the imaginary and the real worlds! I can safely assume that in the ideal world you created everything would have happened differently and nobody would have ever suspected the master of your caliber of doing something foul because you wouldn't have been carrying a knife… Heck, in your world nobody would have even thought of sneaking into the hospital to murder Harold Bucksup III in the first place! Yes, I made a mistake about you, I admit it, but you too should understand me! After the incident I checked many variants, interrogated all male mice working here! I did it at night and in the morning; I didn't even have time for dinner!"

Chipmunk waved at the tray on the table. Cheeseman looked there and, judging from slightly decreased speed of marble rolling, softened somewhat.

"I see."

"Thank you. Then you should understand why you were caught and treated like that. When all the possible suspects from among the hospital workers were checked, I checked other variants and came to a conclusion it could have been a vengeance… Okay, you heard it already so I won't repeat myself. And I sent an ambulance team to Doctor Stone's house to warn him about the possible danger and bring him here. And now imagine that you are a medical worker sent to save your boss from unknown killer and you see him talking in the empty backstreet with some stranger who happens to be armed! What would you think? What would you do?"

"I don't know. I'm not a specialist here…"

"And I am a specialist, and an experienced one, I must say! I've been in this business for I don't know how long! You too lose a track of time when working on your next masterpiece, you said it yourself. I lost it, too. I and my team went through so many scrapes you can make a whole series about it! And this," Chip tapped on the bandage on his head and a plaster case on his leg, "isn't the outcome of falling from a ladder while changing the lamp, either!"

The artist just nodded. Now it was his turn to look aside and scold himself for having being rude.

"Still, Mister Cheeseman, I must admit it's my fault. The first thing I should have done was to ask you to take off your coat to see whether you could have been the night killer. I should have asked whether you were holding the knife while talking with Doctor Stone, I should have… In short, I should have done many things. But I didn't, because I was sure I was right. The consequences just forced me to consider you a murderer.

"I have a habit you see. I don't know if it's good or bad, but I'm keen on chasing long shots, the more the better, otherwise I feel like I'm missing something. The vengeance version was one of those long shots, so imagine my reaction when it worked! Everything matched! How did you say? Posture, lightning, background… Everything! And I failed…"

"Well, I wouldn't say so," the male mouse objected. "You described my feelings both before and after my visit here so precisely I lost my gift of speech. It was brilliant, ingenious…"

"Drop it. It was one huge mistake. MIS-TAKE, you see? Sure if I had had all the resources the human cops have I wouldn't have probably made it… On the other hand, all the evidence was against you, and it would have been hard for you to prove you weren't guilty in the court similar to the human one. But here everything is simpler. Or harder― No, in our case it's simpler. You have to convince only me alone to be free again."

"And if I hadn't?" Cheeseman asked warily. "What would have been with me?"

"Same as with all the others," Chip answered.

"I see," Mike said. The coat hanging loosely on his frame hid the shiver running through his body, and only rhythmic tapping of marbles stopped for a second showing his fear. "Looks like I got very lucky."

"Actually, it's hard to tell who of us got luckier."

"Allow me to doubt it, Mister Chip."

"No, Mister Cheeseman, it's indeed so. Yes, my mistake would have cost you too much, but trust me, it would have cost _me_ even more. First, I would have stopped searching for a true murderer allowing him to finish his case. Second, because of me the world would have lost a great artist capable of making this world at least slightly better. Finally, my mistake would have put paid to my own dream, because I have a dream, too, Mister Cheeseman. I want to make our world better, brighter and safer. That's why I've been a Rescue Ranger for all these years trying by acts and words to make this happy future come closer.

"But while my vision of future doesn't differ much from yours, our ways are different and the costs are even more so. If the picture you've been working doesn't work out well you can always throw it out and start the new one keeping previous mistakes in mind. That's why each your failure is just another step towards your new masterpiece. But my mistake is someone's mutilated fate which throws me way backwards from my destination.

"There were several moments in my life when I was just an inch away from making such a mistake, but every time I was able to find the right way, either by myself or with somebody's help. And I'm sure that many such moments are ahead of me. Because I'll keep doing what I'm skillful with, hopefully approaching my dream step by step…"

Chip sipped the cold tea brought along with the dinner.

"That's basically everything I wanted to tell you. Maybe it wouldn't really help but I really don't want you to think badly of my team, my friends. This fault is mine only, they have nothing to do with it. I don't apologize because I know it's hard to forgive what I've done. But I ask you to understand me. At least understand me."

Cheeseman stood still as if waiting for something. Chip drank his tea silently, listening to the soothing tapping of marbles. Finishing his cup, chipmunk was about to tell Cheeseman he was free to go but the artist forestalled him for a second.

"I understand you," he said stepping up to Chip. "Now I understand. I must say that at first I had a fairly low opinion of you. Even more than that, I saw you as an epitome of all those wrong things I wanted to rid my world of. I saw arrogance and cruelty, belief in personal infallibility and the resulting inability to hear different opinions. I saw you as a metal-cast all-crushing golem with the flock of black ravens circling in the black sky above him. There were no rays of light in the clouds and thus no hope to get away, because if the golem doesn't notice you, the ravens will."

"Even so…" Chip muttered.

"Yes, just like that. But now I see it differently. You are no golem but the rodent of flesh and blood, just like me and the others. And the black birds are not your ruthless servants but your high hopes aimed at the sky. As for the sky… The sky is still covered with clouds, but not so dense, and the rays of sun pierce it, rare but dear. It's there, to the light hidden by the clouds, your birds are flying."

"Do they reach it?" Chip asked without the smallest hint of irony or mockery, common for his words about fantasies, illusions and various visions.

"They are flying," Cheeseman answered. "But will they reach it? That's the question not to the artist but to the one on the portrait."

Leader of Rescue Rangers nodded silently. The artist's voice resounded in his head and the picture made of words, thoughts and feelings, so real that he actually tried to erase the dark spot which appeared right in the center of it. Only after several unsuccessful attempts he realized that the spot was real and it was not a spot at all but Cheeseman's paw extended for a handshake.

"Good luck," he said.

"Thanks," Chip answered shaking the hand which turned out unexpectedly strong ― the result of constant exercises with marbles.

"Hope you won't make such mistakes anymore."

"I'll try," Chip smiled. And though his intuition told him this mistake wasn't the last in his life, the further events showed that the reality can surpass not only the biggest expectations but the most pessimistic forecasts as well.

*** 6 ***

_December__ 14__th__, __evening_

"What's next?" Doctor Stone asked. When the Cheeseman episode was settled, he sent the orderlies back to their posts and only he, Spivey and Chip remained in the investigation headquarters. Once again the doctors were sitting on the sofa while Chip stopped his wheelchair near the opened window. He sat still, peering at the mirror-like smooth wall of the light shaft and realizing for the first time how Gadget probably felt saying "It should have worked…" These were the words he wanted to say most of all now…

"Tell me, Harvey, do you still trust me?" he asked, barely audibly.

"For goodness' sake, what are you talking about?" The old doctor wondered. "Sure I do!"

"Even after such a mistake?"

"Especially after such a mistake!" Stone assured him. "I'm perfectly aware of how you are feeling now because I had been in the same situation many times when my initial diagnosis was erroneous. But I always found bravery to admit my fault, make excuses and work on. That's the only correct way out of such situation because had I insisted on my first decision fearing to look incompetent, it would have been much worse! Am I right, Kurt?"

The hamster nodded his approval. "Absolutely, Harvey! Chip, you work great! You told Cheeseman's story as if reading it from his medical card! You are a true master of your craft! All the resources of Small Central Hospital are at your command!"

"At my command?" Chip asked rotating his wheelchair to face the doctors. "Then let's not waste any time. Here is my plan. First, I want to ask you, Harvey, to stay in the hospital for a while."

"Wait, wait," bewildered Stone muttered. "But I thought…"

"No, doctor. The fact that Cheeseman didn't want to kill you doesn't mean that some other rejected applicant doesn't want to kill you and Mister Harold. Do you have the list of them?"

"Must be somewhere in the personnel department."

"I hope their addresses are there, too?"

"Yes, they filled the standard form."

"Good. I need the list of male mice with names and addresses."

"You'll have it," Spivey nodded. "What's then?"

"Then we'll have to visit every one of them and have a talk."

"Wouldn't it be easier to summon them all here?" Doctor Stone suggested. "We have their addresses so…"

"Indeed!" Spivey joined in with his boss. "We can write that there's a vacancy in the hospital… No! We'll announce additional personnel recruitment in the run-up to the opening of San-Angeles branch! We were going to start it right after New Year, but two weeks don't make a big difference!"

Chip smiled. "Harvey, Kurt, you made quite a progress! This is a good idea but, I'm afraid, not too effective in this case. First, we can't be sure when the information reaches the suspects."

"But we'll send them letters! We'll write that the past applicants have advantage or something like that! It will work, I'm sure!" Spivey was beaming with enthusiasm.

"Second," Chip went on, "we'll scare the felon. He isn't a fool having developed such an intricate plan of Mister Bucksup's murder, and the appearance of such an advertisement on the very next day after attempted murder will alert him. In any case, it would have alerted me, and I learned long time ago that you should never consider your foes sillier than you. That's why we'll act according to my plan. It's longer but more reliable."

"Well, looks like there's no sense in arguing with you," Stone agreed. "Kurt, tell them to prepare the list."

"I'm on my way," Spivey reported. He went to the door, but no sooner had he put his paw on the knob than the door swung open almost hitting him in the nose and a young female mouse dashed in. Her movements were fast and furious like a hurricane and her face was burning with agitation, so Chip didn't recognize her as Mouise Bucksup at first since her current look differed greatly from the image of inconsolable almost-a-widow he had seen before. Paying no attention to Dr. Spivey almost crushed by her, Harold Bucksup's wife ran directly to the head of the hospital and it was Mr. Nutson entering next who had to apologize to the hamster.

"Doctor Stone!" Mrs. Bucksup seized the old mouse by his sleeve. "What's going on?! I came to visit my husband and these goons block the door and say you ordered not to let anyone in! Please, tell me what happened! How is he?!"

Stone tried to calm the agitated female down. "Mrs. Mouise, please, don't worry! I assure you that nothing wrong happened to your husband…"

"Than what is this for?! Why is he guarded?! I must know! Don't hide anything from me!" The young actress shouted again.

"Mrs. Bucksup, you'd better sit down," Chip interjected. The mouse gave a start and turned to him, as if noticing him only now. Which, taking into account her state, was probably the case.

"Excuse me, and who are you?" she asked, screwing up her eyes suspiciously. Chip wanted to answer but she turned back to Stone.

"Doctor Stone, who's that?"

"My name is Chip, Mrs. Bucksup. Please, sit down and I'll explain everything," Chip answered instead of the doctor. But his words fell on deaf ears and Mouise kept besieging Stone.

"Doctor, who's that chipmunk? Why is he commanding here? Will someone explain what's going on here?! Doctor Spivey, maybe you…"

"Mrs. Mouise, I think you'd better sit down," the hamster supported Chip's offer and moved the chair up to the actress. She was so nervous, though, that the attempts to calm her down only made her even more worried. The young mouse was swinging like a whirligig looking at the males surrounding her and growing even more nervous because of inability to see all of them at once. Finally she rested her eyes on her attorney.

"Perry…" she began. Nutson was quick on the uptake, came up to her and took her by her elbow.

"Mrs. Mouise, let's take a seat. I'm sure everything will be alright. Had something irremediable happened, Doctor Stone and Doctor Spivey wouldn't have concealed it. Everything is fine. We'll know everything shortly…" he admonished his client gently but steadily ushering her to the chair Spivey provided. The attorney's words calmed the actress and she sat down. Knowing that she was going to hear not very pleasant news, Nutson immediately placed a glass of water in front of her.

"Thanks, Perry," the female mouse nodded and said, addressing Chip. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear your name clearly…"

"Chip," the chipmunk introduced himself once again and rolled closer to her. "I'm one of the Rescue Ranger and it happened so that…"

"Rescue Rangers?" Mouise threw up her hands. "Golly, what a surprise! My husband told me so much about you! It was you who dealt with that horrible Cola Cult, yes?"

"Yes," Chip nodded.

"Oh my, if only you knew how often Harold remembered about that story, especially lately! He constantly repeated that if it hadn't been for you he would have lost his fortune and would have never built this hospital nor helped me to make my way in the under-the-floor-world… You― you can't imagine how glad I am to meet you, Mister Chip!"

"Me too," chipmunk bowed politely, "though to tell the truth I'd prefer to meet you under not so dramatic circumstances."

Mouise strained again. "What happened?"

"Nothing particularly terrible, I assure you. But the case is, someone was trying to murder your husband."

Mrs. Bucksup grew pale, grabbed the edge of the table by both hands and started slipping down from the chair. Spivey standing right behind her nimbly grabbed her and sat back down while Nutson showed the glass of water into her fingers and hold her shaking paw not letting the liquid to spill.

"Kurt, bring the ammoniac!" Stone shouted, but the actress shook her head and raised her hand in protest.

"No-no, that's not needed…" she mumbled gulping up the water. Emptying the glass she returned it to the attorney. "I'm okay… Thanks… So what― How is Harold?"

"He wasn't hurt," Rescue Ranger answered. "The killer was unsuccessful."

"Who was it?"

"Unfortunately, we don't know. He managed to get away."

"Gosh, gosh, gosh…" the female mouse lamented. "I don't believe it… This… It's impossible… It's… How can it be, Perry?! How could it happen?!"

Nutson squeezed her hand reassuringly. "I'm sure Mister Chip will explain everything. Let's hear him."

"Yes-yes, Perry, of course!" Mouise nodded checking the pockets of her jacket in search of handkerchief. There was none so she had to use Mr. Nutson's one. Chip waited politely until she finished blotting her eyes and went on.

"Mrs. Bucksup, I fully understand it's hard for you to talk and think about it but circumstances force me to ask you to answer my questions since you can help us find the criminal like no other."

"Yes-yes, you are right, yes," the actress agreed. "Please, Mister Chip, asked everything you need."

"Thank you, Mrs. Bucksup. Tell me, did― does your husband have enemies? Among the mice, I mean?"

"No, of course not! After everything he'd done to the rodents of this city? No mouse will ever do him any harm!"

"Unfortunately, at least somemouse will, because the unfortunate killer was exactly a mouse."

"But… But it's…" Mouise had to apply efforts to say it since Chip's words left her breathless.

"I'm sorry but it's true. I saw him clearly."

"Golly, Mister Chip!" Mouise gasped. "I should have understood it right away! Your bandage… And your leg! It was him, yes? You are a true hero!"

Rescue Ranger smiled. "Sorry to disappoint you. The leg injury happened last week. And the bruise on my head is also my own fault for the most part. But let's get back to the topic. Did anyone threaten your husband, especially lately? Were there any strange visitors, letters?"

"No, nothing like that/"

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. Harold never hid anything from me. If something like that happened, he would tell me!"

"Then I must applaud you! Today such trust relationships are very rare even among a husband and a wife…"

Chipmunk broke off hit by the sudden guess. Basically, this version nestled up in his mind almost from the very beginning but all this time remained in shadow of other, more obvious variants. Now, after these words, it flashed like a neon sign, pushing all other considerations back.

"Tell me, Mrs. Mouise, what were the relationships between your husband and his former wife?"

"His former wife?" Mrs. Bucksup asked thoughtfully. "No relationships."

"No relationships? You mean none at all?"

"None at all. We never heard from her while we are married."

"How long have you been married?"

"Almost five years."

"And during this time ― nothing? No visits, no letters, no Christmas cards?"

"Nothing," Mrs. Bucksup lowered her eyes. "Nothing at all."

"What about your husband? Did he mention her?"

"Oh yes, he did. He wrote letters to her, both for the holidays and for no special reason, but she never answered."

"Oh my…" Chip muttered. The image of Barbara Swissand formed after conversations with Mildred got some new, somber hues. Sure, the nurse mentioned that she was proud, but this…

---

…_Mr. Harold still loves her despite their quarrel, divorce and his pride…_

---

What if pride has nothing to do with it? What if everything is much more prosy and because of that, much scarier? After all, the fact that Harold Bucksup still loves his former wife doesn't necessary mean she feels the same for him…

But what if she does? What if she still loves him so much that even despite the divorce considers him belonging to her alone? And because of that she could never forgive him another marriage, even based on the noblest motives?

"But the night visitor was clearly a male!"

Well, maybe Barbara Swissand has masculine figure? And one can always cut his or her hair…

"Yes, but what about age?"

Well, what if she goes in for sports? Or just manages to stay in shape?

Could be. He should ask Mrs. Mouise for a photograph of former Mrs. Bucksup. Her husband, if he indeed still loves her, should have lots of them.

Still it was hard to imagine the elderly female from the rich family creeping along the dim-lit ventilation shaft with the syringe filled with poison in her paws…

BUT WHO SAID SHE MUST DO IT HERSELF?!

If she's indeed as rich as Millie said, she would have no problems hiring some bandit from New-York to make all the dirty work for her…

BUT WHAT IF IT WEREN'T A BANDIT, BUT SOMEONE WORKING HERE?!

"Mister Chip, you think…" Mouise stopped short not daring to say the scary words out loud but it was obvious what she wanted to say. Everybody was looking at Chip. They were waiting for his diagnosis. His verdict. His sentence.

_If it's so, who can it be?_ Rescue Ranger pondered. _Everybody matching the description in the slightest has an alibi. But if the money of the Swissands is indeed involved, alibi doesn't prove anything. If you bought one, you can buy another one, two or three who would confirm that the killer was with them all the time…_

But Mouise Bucksup was right when she said that Harold Bucksup was loved and respected by all rodents in the city, and even more so by those working here. Suppose you can find one scoundrel among them. But two or three of them…

Still, big money opens any doors not only in show-biz…

And not only in SCH.

"MARTINEZ!"

The athletic nurseman from rehabilitation section whose alibi was confirmed by all the members of large family of poor Mexican immigrants who'd say everything if the sum is large enough…

"Yes, but no money can buy the delivery time…"

But what if there was no delivery?! That is, it was, but earlier that day?! Or the day before?!

_Interrogate the husband again! Interrogate their doctor! Interrogate other family members! Confront them with Martinez…!_

Chip shook his head and clenched his feasts to contain the hunting favor running through him. Once again everything looked very easy, simple and logical. Exactly like with Cheeseman who, as it turned out, just wanted to thank Dr. Stone. Just a half an hour ago he asked the artist he wrongly accused for understanding and now he uncovered the whole New York-Mexican conspiracy basing on the sole fact that former Mrs. Bucksup doesn't answer her former husband's letters. After all, there can be many explanations, from bad work of mail service to her death…

No, Harold Bucksup III would have been among the first to know about his wife's death and Mouise would have known it, too. But that's not the point. The point is he once again jumps at the nearest piece of cheese not noticing the mousetrap behind it and without asking himself two simple questions: "is this a cheese in the first place?" and "why do I jump at cheese being a chipmunk?" In other words, once again forgetting two most important moments: capability and motive. And while the capability was more or less clear, the motive still didn't bear scrutiny. Not the motive, actually, but the reason why Barbara Swissand had waited for almost five years to make her husband pay the price for marrying another female. Maybe she expected the marriage to collapse all by itself? Or waited for something else to happen? For him to be put into his own hospital, maybe…?

_Here it is! Of course!_

Why would Barbara Swissand hire somebody to kill her husband already lying on his deathbed? Unlike 'the revenge for the dream' where it could be explained by obsession and symbolism, in this case it looked too strange. Not to mention that for a female who madly loved her former husband it would have been much more logical to want to kill not him but the one who occupied her place. Especially since, as Millie put it, many thought that Mouise married Harold to pave her way to the top of show-biz…

Chip broke into a cold sweat and shuddered from sudden grip of winter from the opened window. He strained, ears perked up and claws dug deeply into the armrests.

"Mister Chip, what's with you?!" Stone exclaimed. Like everyone else in the room, he was scared by the changes in Chip's posture and expression.

"It's okay, Harvey," chipmunk answered in dull voice. Right now his brain resembled an assembly plant where the complex multi-element construct was being built from raw blanks brought from the distant corners of memory.

"Mrs. Mouise, did _you_ receive any threats as of late?"

The actress' eyes widened. "Me?! No-no, there was nothing like that…"

"Are you working at the moment?"

"Currently no, but the filming of a new picture 'Of Munks and Malice' starts in January and I'll perform the leading female role there."

"Were there any other contenders for this role?"

"Yes, five more actresses. But the director said from the very beginning that he wants me for this role and I was approved outside of competition so to say…"

"Mrs. Bucksup, is there anyone envying you in Hillywood?"

The actress' face outstretched and assumed the same expression as though she was seriously asked whether she knows hoe to read.

"Mister Chip, you… You are… How could you…" she was red with anger. "You… Of course, there are PLENTY of those!!!"

"Uhm, yeah, sorry, it was really a stupid question," chipmunk quickly admitted to smooth away his blunder. As Monty would have put it, if you choked with Parmesan you'll fear the curds. The episode with Canina La Fur was a vivid proof that the envy is very common among actors, especially towards the stars. And Mouise's anger was absolutely understandable because nobody envies only third-grade actors. Chip would also become offended if after so many years of fighting evil in all its forms someone would sincerely question the existence of enemies wishing the brave five to die slowly and painfully.

But then again, if it's really plotting of Hillywood ill-wishers, why they tried to kill Harold Bucksup and not his wife? What they win from the old patron's death?

Maybe they want to deprive Mouise of the powerful sponsor? But she's already a star whose name speaks for itself and who doesn't need to be pushed into the role since the directors are queuing up to film her…

Maybe they want to scare her, to throw her off-balance, to make her reject the role? But she already knows that her husband's chances are slim and goes on working…

_Once again we arrive__ at the starting point: why would anyone want to kill Harold Bucksup III who's lethally ill already?_

_To show we've got long hands?_

_Could be…_

_It remains to find out who those 'we' are…_

The elusive avenger. The former wife. The Hillywood cinemob. Each variant is better than the other. Choose any one you want. And this list is far from complete…

Chip smiled ironically remembering how several days ago he laid in his ward looking at the ceiling and convincing himself that this period of forced inactivity should be used with maximum productivity and an opportunity to have a really long and refreshing rest. Nice rest, isn't it? More running and worries than in Nimnul's electric labyrinth the other day. Cheeseman called him an all-crushing golem chasing his victim, but he felt himself put into a running wheel closed from all sides with the distant light coming through the bars. But no matter how fast he ran, the wheel wasn't moving and the light didn't come nearer. Even worse than that, the faster he ran the more bars were flying in front of him and, contrary to laws of optics, the less light was coming through them…

Rescue Ranger looked up at the doctors, actress and attorney waiting for his answer. Each of them was a master of his respectful craft, but even taken together they didn't have even a small fraction of experience he possessed. That's why they saw him as a miracle worker capable of reaching the darkest corner with the sheer strength of intellect and expose the felon hiding there without leaving his wheelchair and without any assistance, on his own.

Then again, who said he could do it on his own only?

_Maybe I should summon the others here?_ Chip thought. One letter and in two days or even less his friends would be here. Together they would not only work through all the suspects from among previously rejected job seekers but also comb Hillywood from top to bottom. According to the travel plan this and the next day they would spend in Magelang. It's a large tourist center with well established mail service, unlike the much sparser populated area around Bromo and Semeru volcanoes, the perfect spot to observe the incoming eclipse…

Which Gadget would never see and study.

_I can summon only one of them. Monty, for instance… No, Dale__…!_

But would it change anything? No matter what he would write in his letter, no matter how hard he would try to persuade Gadget that everything was alright and she had nothing to worry about she would abandon everything and come here tearing along, and her ingenious hypotheses would remain unconfirmed…

_By the way, I should write them a letter or they'll start worrying…_ Chip noted to himself and instantly remembered that he had sent them his squeezed out creation not very long ago. It was yesterday in the evening but so many events happened in the past 24 hours it seemed no less then a week had passed. Resort of resorts! Time flies so fast he can't find some to have a dinner. Which is always the case when you have to do everything by yourself…

But why by yourself? After all, the entire SCH was at his command along with all its numerous by rodent world standards personnel and the most advanced technology. And while those are not quite the forces which challenge the cinema tycoons, they are more than enough to solve simpler but no less important tasks. You just need to use them wisely.

"Harvey!"

"Yes, Chip!"

"Can you arrange so that no stranger could get into the hospital as a whole and rehabilitation section in particular? The roof elevator and the fire exit worry me the most. They must be constantly observed."

"We'll do it," Stone nodded. "Kurt, you'd better…"

"I'm writing already," Spivey responded who took out a notepad and a pen at Chip's first words.

"Mrs. Mouise?"

"Yes?"

"Is your home a safe place?"

"Well, sure, but… You think…?"

"Everything is possible. If I were you, I wouldn't leave the house without urgent need and without someone accompanying you."

"Well, I…"

"I think it's reasonable, Mrs. Mouise," Nutson said.

"If you think so, Perry, then I have no objections."

"Good," Chip turned back to Spivey. "I need the list of all male mice who applied for a job here but were rejected during the whole period of SCH existence."

"The _whole_ period?" Stone wondered. "But you said you were interested in the early days only."

"Yes, the data for this period interest me the most. But it's better to prepare everything at once so as not to waste time later. Agreed?"

"Absolutely."

"Next. Tomorrow early in the morning, say at six o'clock, the car with Snorkel and his brigade must be waiting for me. We'll go by the addresses."

"Why do you need to go?" Spivey asked. "Our teams can gather everybody and bring them here…"

"No, Kurt, we don't need the repetition of Cheeseman's story. I must see and talk to each suspect in person before your employees undertake any actions. It will save time and nerves."

"If you say so… Anything else?"

"Yes. Put someone to constantly watch the medicine storage. First, although I doubt it, the felon can return there to make sure he hadn't left any evidence against him. Second, we need to know exactly when everything settles down there to go and find the drug used by the killer. Then we'll know exactly what he wanted to do…"

"What do you mean?" Mouise grew agitated again. "Certainly he wanted to murder my husband! You said it yourself!"

"Yes, Mrs. Bucksup, I know. I don't doubt for a second that his intentions were as nefarious as they come. But there is one moment that confuses me ― why would anyone want to kill your husband when he's―" Chip broke off. "I mean…"

"If he's dying already, yes?" Mouise finished with trembling voice. Chipmunk clenched his teeth scolding himself for mentioning that in her presence. But the actress didn't start crying, just sobbed a couple of times and said in much calmer tone.

"Don't blame yourself, Mister Chip. You are right," she looked at the doctors who lowered their eyes. "Doctor Stone and Doctor Spivey do everything possible, but they've already told me that there are very little hopes. Almost none at all…"

The door opened wide and one of the orderlies guarding Mr. Harold's ward appeared on the threshold.

"Doctor Stone!" he blurted out, breathing heavily. "Mister Bucksup…"

"GOSH, NO!!!" Mouise shouted and covered face with her paws. Perry Nutson rushed to her and embraced her by shoulders.

"…regained consciousness!" the messenger finished.

Stone and Spivey grew torpid, exchanged glances and simultaneously dashed out of the room pushing the broad shouldered orderly aside with unnatural for their complexion force. Nutson ran after them pulling Mouise along. Chip brought up the rear, his wheelchair pushed by the aforementioned orderly. Chipmunk resorted to his help in order not to turn another wheelchair into a racing car.

The readings of the numerous pieces of control-measuring equipment in the ward were still obscure to Chip, but one glance on the blinking screens was enough to realize that Harold Bucksup's condition improved significantly, in comparison with today's night at least. The graphs, previously flat, were abundant with knobs and depressions now while the frequency of cardiometer's beeping doubled. But the most important change was that the old patron opened his eyes and was now looking at the tear-drenched face of his wife leaning over him.

"Hal? Do you hear me, Hal?" Mouise kept saying. But the speech hasn't returned to her husband yet and her words remained unanswered. Suddenly his fingers moved making the actress holding his hand scream in surprise.

"Gosh, gosh, Hal…" she lamented. "Gosh, he is… He is recovering!" She looked up at the doctors standing around the bed. "Doctor Spivey, what is it…? How can it be…?"

The hamster made a helpless gesture. "I have no idea. It's something supernatural. Still, taking into account Mister Bucksup's extreme endurance and his ability to maintain impressively active way of life despite his old age, I can presume that it's something like second wind but in the scope of the organism as a whole."

"You mean he's recovering?" Chip asked to clarify.

"At the moment it looks that way."

"HOW CAN IT BE?! DOCTOR SPIVEY, HOW?! HE… HE… CAN HE…" the actyress shouted suddenly, then dropped her head on her hands and started shaking violently. Spivey and Nutson ran up to her and helped her up.

"Calm down, my dear. He'll be alright, I promise. Everything will be alright…" the hamster said, then whispered something into Nutson's ear and the squirrel nodded silently. Spivey accompanied the attorney and the actress to the doors of the section and returned to the ward, immediately becoming the target of Stone's rain of questions.

"So, Kurt, how can you explain this? All analyses showed almost complete stop of all main organs' activity and then there is such an outburst! How? Why? What can you say about it?"

"Only that I'm totally surprised by this and that the symptoms we're observing suggest that the vital activity restored at least partially."

"But that's great!" Chip exclaimed. "When will he recover enough to be able to talk? I need to ask him several questions! He can know who wanted to kill him and why!"

"I know, Chip, but I'm afraid your euphoria is premature. I didn't want to say it in Mrs. Mouise's presence, it's hard enough for her already, so many troubles. But…" Spivey looked at Stone who understood his deputy without a word.

"You mean…" Chip asked. "You mean that this is…"

"The beginning of the end," Stone answered. "The last outburst of nerve-muscular activity before the complete dying away. I understood you right, Kurt?"

Spivey nodded shortly. "Yes, Harvey."

Chip wasn't going to give up. "And― and how long will it last? Maybe he will still be able to answer my questions? We can't allow him to die and take this mystery into the grave, do you understand me? It's our chance! It must be used with maximum efficiency!"

Stone put his paw on Ranger's shoulder. "I understand you perfectly, Chip. But you can see for yourself that Mister Bucksup is unable to talk right now. Yes, his heart and brain function much better than before, but it's too early to say anything about recovery of locomotor apparatus and vocal organs."

"But will it happen?"

"Nobody knows. But after him regaining his consciousness I won't be surprised with anything."

Chip nodded and looked at the patron lying behind the glass. Harold Bucksup closed his eyes again and was sleeping, slowly regaining the resources spent on this truly heroic struggle for life. Chipmunk's heart was wrung with sorrow when he remembered Mouise's pretty face distorted with grief and the image of the young loving wife holding the hand of her husband reinforced his resolution to find the mysterious killer and whoever was behind him by any means necessary.

"The security posts must be established as soon as possible," Chip said when they exited the ward. "If the criminal finds this out, he can repeat his attempt. Draw in as many workers as you can. But not the mice."

"Sure," Stone nodded.

"We also need to go to the storage as soon as possible. Time is of the essence."

"But it's still too hot in there."

"Then we'll try it tomorrow after my return."

"Sounds reasonable," Spivey agreed. "The temperature should have decreased by that time. Who'll go? Apart from me and you, I mean."

"We'll need assistants who are more or less familiar with the human medicines."

"I'll look through the files at night and make a full list. There are those whom I can name right now, though. They are four pharmacology section workers, two laboratory assistants and three anesthesiologists."

"Is Fivel Mousekewitz among them?"

"Yes, he's one of the most…"

"Cross him out. I still have some doubts regarding his unbiasness."

The hamster nodded understandingly. "I see. Then we have eight rodents already. Plus me, that's nine…"

"Ten," Chip corrected him. "Nurse Mildred Munkched is a great specialist in this field and she has a day shift tomorrow."

Stone grinned. "I see you've learned the shift schedule by heart already! Or maybe only some of the rows?" Doctor winked and chipmunk felt he's blushing. "All right, please forgive the old mouse's tactlessness."

"It's okay, Harvey," Chip smiled. But his smile turned out more forced than he would like because the joke-truth ratio in doctor's words clearly favored the latter.


	7. Chapter 7 Survey Condition

**Chapter 7**

**Survey Condition**

*** 1 ***

_December, 15__th_

The list of male mice for various reasons rejected the job in SCH turned out longer then Chip expected. It took almost nine hours to check half of the list and he and the ambulance team were dead tired. No wonder that the news about returning to the hospital was met with unanimous exultation.

"Well," Chip said when the ambulance van headed for Portero-Hill, "I want to thank you enormously for your help! You were doing great, especially taking into account that it was brand new experience for you. There were some minor flaws but from lack of experience only. Though I must admit that when Garding smiled to that old lady I thought it would give her fits."

The van exploded with laughter. The orderly blushed and Chip quickly reconciled the situation. "Don't worry, there's nothing bad with it. The overabundance of enthusiasm is a common practice and it's much better then the lack of it! Sometimes, though, it's better to undersalt than oversalt… Yes-yes, Mitchell, I'm speaking of you," Rescue Ranger nodded when the nurseman sitting in front of him flinched. "I know how you feel and I'm grateful for your desire to help but everything has its limits!"

"But you yourself called that Gonzalez guy suspicious so I thought…"

"If memory serves, I said 'This Gonzalez is strikingly speedy…' not 'Strike this Gonzalez quickly!' It's good that we were able to convince him that you just wanted to take a sample of his fur for fungal analysis. Just imagine what can happen if the rumor starts spreading about the SCH ambulance team driving around the city and grabbing everyone. That would be catastrophic!"

"Okay, okay, I got it! Sorry!"

"Forget about it, Mitchell. But next time be more reserved, please. Okay?"

"Okay, Mister Chip."

"Good. Now have a rest, you deserved it. Unfortunately, we still have half of a list to go, but your efforts will be fully compensated. I'll talk with Doctor Stone about giving all of you two extra days off this week. What do you think?"

His words were met with cheering and applause. Rescue Ranger didn't quite share the wild rapture of his assistants but was happy to leave such a big share of work behind. There were still many options to consider, and he spent the rest of the travel time doing just that.

The road was long but there were many things to muse about. All his previous strikes missed the target and with each checked and discarded variant the scope of search increased exponentially. First the hospital employees, then those who couldn't get a job there. What next? All male mice in the city? Or in San-Angeles? Or in distant New York? Even the whole team of Rescue Rangers with all their experience would need weeks if not months of intense and laborious work to make it. Chip wasn't frightened by it, though. On the contrary, the fastidiousness and methodicalness were in his blood and the difficulties ahead only stimulated his detective ardor. After all, this was _it —_ the _case_. No, even _The Case_ with the capital letter. The Case he had been dreaming of while reading the detective stories till late at night. The Case he found in the most unexpected time and place. Right when his friends were on the other side of the globe…

_Maybe I should call them here?_ Chip wondered but once again rejected this idea. Back in September, when Gadget first spoke of the incoming eclipse and her projects he promised himself that on December 21st they would be nowhere but on the isle of Java. Now, just a few days before this momentous event, when his friends had left almost half of the distance behind, Chip felt more and more confident that by calling his friends back he'll commit a true crime.

They would be eager to answer his call and would arrive here by the nearest flight. They wouldn't hold any grudge on him for it was a real emergency. But the chipmunk knew that the fewer miles remained to the volcano the happier and more fervent Gadget became. Because she also dreamt of making this world better and believed that her discoveries would become another step towards the bright future. And interrupting her now would be equal to shooting the bird flying to the sun…

_It won't happen!_ Chip firmly decided. He glanced about the van's small compartment and the medical workers sitting around him and got added evidence that there was no need to bring his friends here. He wasn't working alone but a member of the large and solidary team which can do something even his friends weren't capable of, namely to check the alibi of all the suspects without a hitch. They and their neighbors felt themselves more comfortable speaking to the SCH employee. Sure, the honest rodents would have told everything to the Rescue Rangers they loved and respected, but not-so-honest would have been alarmed or even scared away by their arrival.

The paramedics were another case whatsoever ― everybody eagerly talked to them and Chip was able to closely observe all the suspects through the van's curtained window. Often it was enough to conclude that they came to the wrong shop. But if the male mouse in question fit the description of the night intruder he was asked to come to the van where Chip talked to him in person while other members questioned the neighbors. Once again the medical cover proved invaluable providing the plausible excuse for information gathering ('you know, the work in hospital is very responsible and we must know everything about the applicants') and thus helping to avoid unneeded idle talks.

In short, everything was going on even better than Chip thought and he expected to check all the versions formulated on a hot scent before the return of his friends. Because then, after Christmas, it would be the time for real operative routine in San-Angeles, New York or any other place where the thread of investigation would lead them to…

"We're here, boss!" Garding touched Chip's shoulder.

Chipmunk gave a start. "What? So quickly?"

"Even the old iron tub is flying like a wind with Ferdie behind the wheel!"

Chip chuckled. "Indeed. You are great, Ferdie!"

"Danke, Mister Chip! See you tomorrow!"

"Yes, see you tomorrow!" Chip said.

Garding helped him to get out of the van and into the wheelchair. Chip thanked everybody for their invaluable help once again and drove to the nearest freight elevator. He went up on the second floor where Dr. Spivey's cabinet was located. Today it served the meeting point for the rodents chosen for the group to visit the hospital storage. Chip providently scheduled it for 3 PM but even though the majority of suspects they visited today lived not too far away he and his team returned to the SCH only at 5 PM. No wonder that the rodents gathered in the corridor met him with joint sigh of relief.

Lab assistant Stewart was the first to run up to him. "Mister Chip! At last! We've started to wonder if everything was cancelled!"

"Sorry for the delay, I didn't expect it to take so long. Is Doctor Spivey here?"

"Yes, he's in his room. We were waiting for you alone!"

"Good. I'll tell him we can proceed…" Chip looked at the rodents standing in front of him. "Wait, where's Mil― Nurse Munkched?"

Stuart motioned at the door. "There. She told Spivey she's got something to tell him and he invited her."

"How long ago?" Chip asked slightly harsher than one could expect.

"About an hour…"

"I see," chipmunk answered shortly. He knocked and opened the door.

"Hope I didn't interrupt anything, Kurt?"

"Ah, Chip, here you are!" the hamster smiled broadly and stood up from the table. "What took you so long? Did you find him?"

"Not yet," Chip shook his head and turned to Mildred sitting in front of the table. "Hi, Millie! How are you?"

"I'm fine…" the nurse answered quietly. Chip drove closer and saw that she was barely holding back the tears.

"Oh boy, Millie, what's with you? What happened here, doctor?!"

"Nothing in particular, Chip. I just told your friend that her idea doesn't hold water…"

"But why, doctor?!" Millie exclaimed. "I don't understand! This is… It's a common practice! After all, these medicines are intended for exactly this!"

Chip grew alarmed. "What medicines are you talking about?"

"About CNS stimulators," Spivey explained.

"CNS?"

"Central nervous system. These drugs have a short-time stimulating effect on the respiratory and vasomotor centers, cardiac muscle and metabolic processes in the organism. They increase the mental and physical performance, endurance and reaction speed, as well as attention span, memorizing capabilities and speed of information processing. They also eliminate the feeling of tiredness and drowsiness," the doctor answered without a flub as if reading from the invisible textbook.

"But… But that's exactly what we need!" Chip exclaimed. "Why don't you give them to Mister Harold?"

The nurse brightened. "That's exactly what I said, Chip! I thought about this for some time and came to the conclusion―"

"…That you completely forgot about side effects!" the hamster broke her off. "About general exhaustion of organism which comes after their effect wears off! About decrease of motivation and working capacity! Not to mention the rapidly developing psychological dependence! Have you thought about that? And don't forget nausea and muscular spasms!"

"But these are overdosing consequences!" Millie objected. "Sure, the widely used phenylalkylamines, for instance, amphetamines, can cause psychoneurologic dysfunctions and even dependence, but the last generation of these medicines, namely cordiamizol, are much safer! You still must carefully measure the dose based on the patient's individual features, but I'm absolutely sure that Doctor Stone…"

"Here it is!" Spivey lifted his index finger didactically. "You remembered at last! Do you think I haven't thought about it? Haven't discussed it with Doctor Stone? Both thought and discussed! And our common diagnosis was this: Mister Bucksup's organism won't survive it!"

"If we measure the doze carefully…" Mildred repeated but the hamster didn't let her finish.

"It's not about the dose! It's about action mechanism! Do you know how they work? How is their effect achieved? I'll remind you in case you've forgotten!" Spivey started to bend his fingers. "Speeding up of heart rate, increase of blood pressure, widening of blood vessels, breathing rate increase, reflex excitability, tachycardia, activization of metabolic processes in muscular tissue, among them in the heart, hyperstimulation…" Spivey raised two clenched fists above his head. "See? And that's not all of it because I didn't look into the mechanism of these drugs' influence on nucleotides synthesis in neurons and other physiochemical aspects of their administration! Don't you understand that every one, I repeat, every single one of these factors can cause the lethal outcome?! And taking into account Mister Bucksup's age it won't come to just a single organ or system! Have you thought about that?!"

"Don't yell at her, Kurt!"

"I'm not yelling but merely stating the fact! It's easy for her to say that because if something irremediable happens, I, doctor in charge, will be responsible and not her, the simple nurse, who can't be really accounted for anything…"

"Stop talking like that about her!" Chip shouted. He even tried to stand up leaning on the armrests and Spivey instinctively backed away.

"Don't, Chip!" Millie grabbed his elbow, though in his current condition Chip couldn't jump at the doctor no matter how strongly he wished that. "Doctor Spivey is right; I take too much upon myself…"

"No, Millie, it's not like that! You are great specialist! I included you into this group for a reason!"

"So it was you who nominated me? I thought it was Doctor Spivey…"

"No, Millie," the doctor said. "It was indeed you friend's idea. And you know what I want to tell you? That he was right as always. You are indeed a good pharmacology specialist and your arguments would do an honor for any doctor on any council!"

"Thank you, doctor, but why then…"

"Please, understand me correctly," Spivey said. Seeing that Chip's rage was gone, he stepped up to them and put his paw on the nurse's shoulder. "I see that you really want to help and that you spent quite some time thinking this idea over. But we can't take such risks. Yes, Mister Bucksup's condition improved slightly. Only _slightly_, mind you. Yes, there is a small ray of hope for positive outcome. But we must remember that the illness of this kind never end without a trace. Only after some time, numerous analysis and close observation, when we are sure that what we see is indeed recover and not some sporadic outburst of activity, only then we can think and talk about administering drastic medicines. Not a day earlier. Right now any careless intrusion in the processes going on in his organism can kill him. It will be the same as dropping a ton of fertilizer on the sprout barely appearing from the ground. There is a reason why the main medical commandment reads 'don't make harm!' Do you understand?"

The female chipmunk nodded. "Yes, doctor, you are right. I got too heated…"

"There's nothing shameful with it, I assure you! It's just another proof that our common cause does matter to you and you are ready to take risks in order to save someone's life. It's a praiseworthy virtue in medicine but you won't do much with youthful ardor only. Experience is vital. But trust me, if you keep it up at the current rate, in two-three years you'll be a real professional and will know more than me about medicines!"

"Oh, doctor, please," Mildred blushed heavily. "I won't reach your level ever!"

"Stop talking non-sense, Millie!" the hamster jokingly wagged his finger at her. "You'll do fine! Okay, there's a full crowd waiting for us! Let's go!"

*** 2 ***

"What's there?" Spivey asked when Stewart returned from the recon.

"He's sitting and reading a newspaper. No visitors."

Doctor rubbed his hands with satisfaction. "Good. Turkle, arrange the call. Track number five."

"Will do, boss!" the orderly reported.

"Try not to break anything there, Turkle," Chip instructed him. The large mouse said nothing, only his eyes flashed fire as he disappeared in the tunnel leading to the Building no. 2. He was heading up and left, into the upper north-east corner of the storage room. There the ventilation shaft came close to the cable duct which allowed Gadget to connect the digital dictophone to the phone line. The device was tweaked to get power directly from the phone line and could function autonomously for a very long time.

The first time this device was mentioned Chip grimaced as from toothache. It was one of those occurrences when Dale utterly defeated him in the engineering duel. On the other hand, it should have been expected since only such master of various pranks as Dale could have come up with such unpretentious and at the same time effective method of fighting vigilant storekeepers.

The basic idea was as simple as a nickel ― record the voice of the hospital receptionist calling the storekeeper to pick up the package brought by a delivery boy. The package in question was made up by Rescue Rangers and filled with advertisement materials borrowed from the nearby shops. Basically it was needed for the first time only but then there was other problem ― if you use the same trick all the time, the humans would get suspicious soon. That's why several scenarios were created involving everyone who could need the storekeeper to come, from the receptionist to the hospital director. A false note asking to summon the storekeeper was dropped on the director's secretary's desk to make the last one possible. This scenario had never been used before but now was the perfect opportunity since it was the most legitimate reason under current circumstances and, even more important, the director's office was located on the top floor of Building no. 1 so the storekeeper would be absent for quite some.

The phone rang making the man to shiver and almost tear his newspaper in halves. He looked at the communication device with fear, praying silently for it to be just a wrong number call, then picked up the receiver and brought it to his ear. The line was silent because the dictophone was set to voice activation. The storekeeper also wasn't eager to start conversation, the pause grew longer and longer and the rodents crowded near the ventilation grate began to exchange agitated whispers.

"Yes…" the man said at last and the answer made him shiver stronger than before. He nodded to the unseen 'secretary', hand up and cast not just alarmed but miserable glance at the phone. Then he sighed deeply and left, preparing to get another good dressing-down.

"Perfect!" Spivey said. He produced a list of team members out of his pocket and began to distribute shelvings among them. "Brady ― first shelving. Farmer ― second. Munkched and Potter ― third. Me ― fourth. Stewart and Taylor ― fifth…"

"Are you sure you don't need assistant, Kurt?" Rescue Ranger asked. "There's one step missing and all that…"

The hamster grinned slyly. "Don't worry about that, Chip. It has been fixed already."

"How can be? You said that no rodent could get in here before!"

"Yes, that's true. But there was no need for any of us to come here. The humans did everything."

"Humans?! But―"

"You'll see everything for yourself, Chip. Okay, where did I stop? Oh, yes, shelving number six…"

Finishing assigning the shelves Spivey put the list away and the team entered the storage room. Chip was driving alongside the doctor thinking fervently why people would repair the fallen step. If he had been them the strange object would have definitely caught his attention being too misplaced here…

_Waitaminute!_

Chipmunk looked closely at the shelvings around him. During his first visit here he noticed that the stairs were made on all of them. But only now he saw that the planks were inserted in exactly the same manner, to the single slot. As a result, they looked like integral parts of the shelvings along with their shelves.

"Bravo, Kurt!" he exclaimed. "The obviousness disguise, like in 'The Stolen Telegram'! It's perfect!"

There was no answer. Chip looked back and saw Doctor Spivey standing still couple of feet away staring with glassy eyes at his shelving, namely its fourth shelf, now practically empty. This emptiness and the barely perceptible scent of the spilled medicines were the only reminders of the yesterday night's battle.

"What's wrong, Kurt?" Chip asked, worried.

"That's… That's… Chip, it's… It's _the shelving_, yes? _That_ shelf, yes?"

"Yes, it is."

"Oh, my gosh… Mister Chip!" Spivey came up to him and extended his hand. "You are truly a hero! I must admit that when you said the criminal dropped entire shelf of medicines down on your head I thought it was just a figure of speech. Only now did I realize what kind of danger you had been in… And after that you worked with Harvey in laboratory until the morning light… You are a great chipmunk, Chip!"

Chip smiled and shook his hand. "Drop it, Spivey! You are the true heroes. I wouldn't have got anywhere in my investigation without your assistance!"

"We help with what we have!" the doctor answered and went to the assigned shelving. Chip drove back to the ventilation grate and watched the search operation from there.

It was a magnificent view. This time the storekeeper didn't forget to turn off the light, but each member of the search squad had a small LED light with him, like those inserted into key rings to light up keyholes. The small lights appearing and disappearing on the shelvings reminded the dancing fireflies. For Chip, though, they resembled the lights held by audience during A-Kha's concert and he shook involuntarily at the memories brought by this association, both pleasant and not very much so…

"Are you sleeping, Chip?" Mildred's voice sounded right above his ear.

"No, Millie, just thinking of things…"

"How do you feel? Any headaches? Need aspirin? I've got some…"

"Thanks but it's not needed. I'm perfectly fine. I don't even need a bandage anymore!"

"Are you sure?" the nurse carefully touched his head near the bruise. "Does it hurt here?"

"How can the touch of such a pretty girl ever hurt?"

Millie's hand stopped for a moment, then she crouched and looked into Chip's eyes.

"You tell me."

"Haven't I already?"

Millie giggled. "You just have to speak riddles, don't you?"

"Actually, no, but… Besides, concerning the riddles. Did you find anything?"

Millie shook her head. "No. Not a single non-benzodiazepine. Nothing even remotely similar."

"I see."

Chip turned back to the lights dancing in the dark. Then another thought occurred to him suddenly and he asked trying to make his voice sound as natural as possible.

"You've done it really fast, you know!"

"Thanks, but that's completely owing to Potter's help. He's our second laboratory assistant."

"Oh, sure… What do you think of him?" Chip asked the first question he could think of in order to quickly change the topic before Millie could notice a line he had cast.

"Well, he's nice. As for a mouse, I mean."

"Good to hear that," Chip commented, relieved. He wasn't quite sure what he was more relieved with: that Millie didn't notice anything or that Potter was a mouse. "Did he find anything?"

"Nothing, too. But there were mainly instruments and bandaging materials on our shelving. I'm sorry…"

Chip quickly tried to cheer her up. "Don't be upset, Millie. One shelving full of bandages doesn't mean anything. There are many more of them here…"

"Mister Chip!"

"Yes?"

"Brady, first shelving. Nothing."

"Are you sure?"

"No non-benzodiazepines at all. Absolutely."

"I see."

"May I go? I'm from the night shift and…"

"Sure! Thanks for helping! Goodbye!"

"Goodbye, Mister Chip."

"One more failure," the nurse observed squeezing Chip's hand.

"It's okay, Millie," Chip reassured her, although the second reported failure troubled him, too. On the other hand, with each checked shelving chances to find the drug they were looking for only increased…

"Nothin' on the fifth one, Mister Chip."

"Thanks, Taylor. Thank you, Stewart…" The lab assistant went to the exit but Chip stopped him "Stewart, wait! I wanted to ask you about those samples. Their results are stored on the hard drive, yes?"

"Yes, I even created a separate password-protected folder for them."

"That was very provident on your part! Do you think we can squeeze something else out of them?"

"I don't know…" the lab assistant waved his hand vaguely. "Considering the amount of text we had to deal with we could have missed something, in theory that is… You know, I can try to tweak the algorithm settings, it could work…"

"I'll be very grateful! Now go and have some rest, I delayed you for too long already…"

"Farmer, second shelving. Nothing."

"Thank you very much, you are free…"

"There's nothing on the ninth…"

Now the reports started arriving in a single stream. The reporters and numbers changed, but the meaning stayed the same.

"Empty…"

"Nothing…"

"Unfortunately, nothing like that…"

"I'm terribly sorry, but…"

With each new report Mildred squeezed Chip's paw tighter and tighter while chipmunk knitted his brows, again and again mentally testing each and every link of his theory in search of the weakest one which, like a powerful locomotive, led his train of thought into a dead end.

But everything looked so logical and natural.

The felon came not via the elevator but through ventilation. That's axiom.

He knew the tunnels perfectly and, more importantly, knew about the secret door in the ventilation grate. That's another axiom.

The felon didn't run to the fire exit but headed to the storage. He could have easily escaped through the Building no. 2 but instead hid in the room with only one exit available for him. Why?

Because he didn't know that the shaft bent sharply and the cripple, even on the jet wheelchair, wouldn't pass there. Axiom?

No, looks more like a theorem because up to this moment the criminal acted faultlessly. Sneaked through the section without a noise, made sure nobody's watching, didn't turn on the light in the ward. Later he wanted to leave via the elevator knowing that it's the fastest and the safest way to leave the crime scene. But then he saw that Chip's wheelchair could move much faster than the normal ones, panicked and ran where his feet would take him, absent-mindedly following the way he came…

_Absent-mindedly? Or maybe__, with a distinct reason?_

"Winston, shelving number ten. Blank."

"Thanks…" Chip mumbled without even looking at him.

_You said for yourself that it's dangerous to underestimate your foes and then wrote the killer off as a lunatic. No, he's not a lunatic. He had purpose._

Purpose.

_What purpose?_

"Chip!"

It was Spivey. His ever-sleek hair was disheveled and the drops of sweat sparkled on his round face like a fine beads.

"Tell me you found it, Kurt."

"What, nobody else…?"

"You are the last. Don't tell me you've got nothing."

The doctor made a helpless gesture with his trembling hands. "Sorry but no. Nothing. I searched everything, triple checked every shelf…"

"Oh my…" Millie whispered. "Doctor Spivey… Chip… But this is…"

"Fiasco," Rescue Ranger finished with a doleful smile. He missed something. Again.

"We've got to go, Chip. The storage keeper can come any minute!"

"Yes, Kurt, you are right. There's nothing we can do here…"

The trio closed the grate behind them and headed back to SCH. As usual, Mildred took control of Chip's wheelchair allowing him to sit back and consider the situation at hand.

_Where did the felon get his poison?_

They didn't find it in the hospital storage, which means he probably brought it from somewhere else. Another proof of the theory about the hired killer from some distant city…

_How he knew about the hidden door, then?_

Thorough preparation and planning, what's more to say?

_Why didn't he run into the Building no. 2 then?_

He didn't knew about the shaft's bending… which doesn't corresponds with the 'thorough preparation and planning' well. If he explored the ventilation as far as the medicine storage room, he must have gone to see where the nearby corridor went. He must have known that if he had turned right he would have been safe. So why did he do the opposite?

_Oh my, because it WAS THE OPPOSITE!_

The felon not 'didn't know that if he had turned right he would have been safe'. He knew that if he had turned right he would have been in danger because of the crutch thrown by Chip. He saw what Chip was going to do and changed his plans. That's all!

Looks that way. But then there's another question. Why didn't he leave through the fire exit? Sure, Building no. 2 had lots of places to hide. But the fire exit leads directly to the street where it's very easy to run away…

Or maybe…

"Millie!"

"Yes, Chip?"

"Return to the section with Kurt, I'll catch up with you. I need to check something."

"May I go with you?"

"Erm, well, if you want to…"

"Are you serious?! Sure I do! I'll go anywhere with you!"

"I have no complaints then!" Chip said gaily.

"Hope you won't mind too much if I go with you, too?" Spivey asked with a smile. "Maybe you'll need help, who knows…"

"Sure, doctor, your expertise can be invaluable!" chipmunk assured him, albeit this time his gayness was a bit strained.

Reaching the garland-decorated corridor the trio turned left, to the fire exit. It was built by the same principle as the main gates. An ordinary ventilation grating was augmented with automatic lifting mechanism consisting of the metal hair rollers hidden in the recesses on both sides of the shaft. They could be moved either by electromotors activated from the console or manually with the help of nails welded crosswise to their sides just like the handles of bridge lifting mechanisms in medieval castles.

"What do you want to find here?" the hamster asked Chip examining the console attached to the wall with duct tape. There were two buttons on it, the upper one lifting the grate and the lower one lowering it. To avoid confusion the upper button was twice as large and covered with orange fluorescent paint which made her visible even through thick smoke. The same console, only well hidden, was outside.

"Rather make sure than find," Chip answered pressing the upper button. The electromotors buzzed, the nail handles started rotating like propeller blades and the grate, enormous by rodent standards, flew up in the air opening the exit. Located not too far away from the underground garage drive-in, it was practically invisible from the road because of the bushes growing along the walls so there was a good chance that in case of fire the evacuation of SCH would go unnoticed.

"What now, Chip?" Millie asked when he lowered the grate back.

"What needed to be proved is proven."

"I don't get it."

"Agreed, Chip," Spivey joined in. "The council's in a predicament, please be more specific."

"You see, I don't quite understand why the killer ran to the storage room and not here where he could have escaped me easily. I thought that maybe he did it because he knew that the grate opened too slowly and I would catch him before he could get under it and run away. But as you can see it takes the grate just two seconds to become fully opened. Also you can see that the console is placed in such a way that the running rodent can press the upper button without stopping and slowing down those running behind him during evacuation. But the criminal ran to the storage room. Why?"

"Maybe he didn't know it?" Mildred presumed. "The fire exit is rarely used so it's not a common knowledge…"

"Or maybe he just made an error?" Spivey added.

"Possible, but I wouldn't count on his lack of knowledge or stupidity too much. Up to this moment he acted very professionally. All his previous deeds were reasonable, so this one also must have a goal. But which one?"

"Remember, Chip, back in the lab you said that the criminal could have instinctively run to where he came from. It can explain it!"

"Yes, but at that time I was sure the killer armed himself with a drug he took from the medicine storage but we didn't find anything suitable there… Millie, wait! I have an idea! We can look for it in your warehouse!"

"I did it already."

"Really?!" Chip almost jumped out of his seat. "And you didn't say anything?!"

"But Chip, I found nothing, so… I'm sorry…"

"No, Millie, it's not your fault. Forgive me, I just overreacted… Wait a second, but you live in one of the biggest retail medicine warehouses in the city!"

"That's it, Chip. Retail. Only medicines which go to the drugstores are kept there."

Chip thought for a moment. "You mean it can be something _entirely _new? Experimental drug?"

"Looks that way."

"What about custom-made poison?"

"Custom-made by a rodent, you mean?" Millie shook her head. "No way. Non-benzodiazepines are very complex and their synthesis requires some very sophisticated equipment."

"But how can it be? I mean, to obtain something like this you need to have an access to the research center of some big pharmaceutical company, to the very heart of it! Right, Kurt?"

"Basically, yes…"

"But not necessary!" Millie interrupted the hamster forgetting both etiquette and subordination in the feat of enthusiasm. "Each new drug should pass not only laboratorial but also clinical tests on the real patients. First they give it to the small group of healthy volunteers to check its safety, metabolic action and dosage perfection. Then to the larger group of the patients with the illness this drug is against. Finally during the third phase the trial lots of this drug are sent to all large medical institutions where its overall effectiveness is tested along with side effects and lasting effects. Only after completion of all these tests which can last for several years the drug gets the quality certificate and becomes generally used."

"Wow!" Chip's excitement knew no bounds. "Millie, it's phenomenal!"

"Agreed!" Spivey joined in, smiling kindly albeit somewhat condescendingly at nurse's elaborations.

"In other words," Millie summed up, "the medicine we need can be in this hospital since it's one of the biggest medical institutions of the West Coast and a constant participant of such experimental programs!"

Despite making Chip happy her excitement couldn't dispel his doubts.

"That's great, no doubt of that, but why did we find nothing then?"

"I don't know, maybe it's kept in some separate place. It's an experimental drug, after all, very expensive and rare. Even during the third stage only three to five thousands doses are manufactured which are evenly distributed among the hospitals across the country. Comparing with aspirin, billions of pills of which are manufactured every year, it's no more than a drop in the sea!"

"A drop in the sea…" Chip repeated thoughtfully. Drop in the sea. Little sparkling drop, vanishing among the waves without a trace. Or breaking up against a stone. One drop falls, then another, then the third one… Now it's rain, storm, and waterfall of drops falling from above and splitting into the myriad of tiny splashes looking so much like shatters of glass…

"_Where does a wise man hide a book?"_

"_In the library…"_

It's not a gang of unobtrusive street boys used by Sureluck Jones as his secret agents. It's not a crumpled sheet of paper placed on the most conspicuous place in which all the policemen saw just a discarded rough draft of a letter but only Jules Fondue alone saw the stolen secret government telegram.

It's a full scale battle started to cover the tracks of a previously committed crime, many years later uncovered by a simple village priest Father Gray. This crime was of previously unseen magnitude and thus could only be solved after quite a while, because the big things are better seen from the distance and in quiet setting, not when there are boxes, bottles and vials hitting the floor around you.

"This is it…" Chip muttered.

"What, Chip?" Mildred and Kurt asked in chorus, alarmed by his words and facial expression.

"Do you know why the felon ran to the storeroom?"

"No, why? Chip, please, tell me!"

"He indeed was running right where he came from, following his route precisely. But he followed it not only in ventilation but in the storage, too."

"You mean, he ran…"

"…exactly where the drug he used was kept."

Spivey was very surprised to hear that. "So he led you directly to it? But why would he do it?!"

"I think at first he wanted to hide there and wait until I leave, then move the drug to another place. He knew that a cripple on a wheelchair would never find him, but the plank betrayed him and he had to improvise. But then I helped him by hiding under the shelving. I can't say whether this thought occurred to him before or after he started dropping everything on me, but he dropped the drug among other things to cover his tracks. Being a liquid, it must have been kept in ampoules which hardly survived the fall. And taking into account that the garbage from the hospital is removed two times a day, they must be rotting at the city dump at the moment."

Millie was amazed. "Chip, you are genius! Only you alone could think this all up!"

"If it weren't for you I'd never realize it."

"If it weren't for me?"

"Yes, for you and your words about a drop in the sea."

"Oh, great! Wonderful! I'm so happy I could help you!" the nurse was beaming with emotions.

"Unfortunately, it's too early to celebrate. This drug was very important. If we had a sample of it, we could get ready for the next attack of the criminals. Yes, I'm more than sure that the killer wasn't working alone and that they will make another attempt. They are really smart and resourceful, and the choice of the drug unknown to the analyzer proves that they are very well informed about our capabilities. Not to mention that the effects of this drug are unknown and can confuse even the most experienced doctor."

"You are right, Chip," Spivey nodded and Millie became gloomy.

"But what can we do now?" she asked in a cheerless voice.

"First of all we mustn't give up!" Chip stated knowingly and winked at her. "The experimental drug is like double-edged sword. Surely it's scarce and largely unknown, but because of this it's easily tracked. We'll use the reserve channels. Kurt, I know you are a prominent specialist who worked in pharmaceutical lab in Nebraska for a long time…"

"In Nevada. I know what you mean. I and Harvey will immediately get in touch with our colleagues in all the largest medical centers. If this drug really reached the third testing stage someone must have heard of it. I'll ask them to send us a sample and also be on guard and inform us if someone else asks for it."

"You are reading my thoughts, Kurt! What are we waiting for? Rescue Rangers, away!"

Spivey laughed. "Sure, Chip. What should we do now?"

"Now?" Chip thought for a moment. "We'll wait for the answer while watching Mister Harold closely hoping for a chance to talk to him."

"Then I advise you to spend some waiting time in the diagnostics. Let's see how your leg and head are."

"As you can see, my head works fine!" Chip pointed out with a smile.

"True, but prophylactic survey never hurts. Nurse Mildred will get you there while I'll go and report to Harvey."

They returned to the hospital and Spivey went to the upper floor while Millie drove Chip to the diagnostics section.

"I see you signed Doctor Spivey up in your team," the nurse said with a feigned insult when they were approaching the X-ray room. "What about me?"

"We'll see…" Chip answered with a strained laugh to turn it into a joke though he had to admit Mildred's idea aroused much less protest than one could expect.

*** 3 ***

When Chip crossed the threshold of his ward he realized he had spent there so little time in the last two days that started to forget how it looked like. But now the pressure subsided a bit and it was time for a short pause and little rest. The work-out of the versions put forward on a hot scent had been almost finished. Chip wasn't going to discard any of them up until the real criminal was caught but at the same time his findings were convincing enough to sincerely doubt that he and his friends would have to return to them.

Millie was called back to her duty while Chip was being tomographed and he returned to his ward on his own. The trip seemed dull and long without her company but in the end it was worth it because the greatest and happiest finding of the day was waiting for him in the ward. It was the letter from Indonesia and the moment Chip saw it he realized how much he missed his friends. He literally tore the envelope to pieces and completely immersed into reading. The only thing he could have read with comparable zeal was a new book from the series "Dr. Blotson's Lost Archive" where the stories based on Howard Baskerville's drafts and ideas were published. But even that was debatable, since no story about adventures of a fictional character could match the importance of news from dear friends.

As Chip predicted, by this time his friends had reached city of Magelang, visited the nearby Borobudur temple complex and now were sharing their impressions. The impressions mainly boiled down to emotional interjections once in a while interrupted by descriptions of flora, weather and stone-carven bas-reliefs densely covering the buildings, the magnificence of which was described by aforementioned interjections and for the most part remained off-screen.

On the other hand, the lack of artistic descriptions was more than compensated by technical details. Monty happened to mention that the visible part of foundation hid two hundred bas-reliefs and was built much later than the rest of the building for _the purpose unknown_ meant the same for Gadget as a red rag for a bull. She instantly went to verify all basic hypotheses, among them that the foundation was reinforced to prevent subsiding of the hill the temple was built on. This brief introduction was followed by formulas and schemes, separate blocks of which went in all four directions. Most probably the mouse made all the calculations on the run trying to compute everything at once and paid no attention to such nuisances as lack of space on the page. For Chip her writings were obscure all by themselves and the need to constantly rotate the letter provided additional difficulty level. Nevertheless, he slowly but steadily made his way through the manuscript jungle trying desperately not to miss any single sign written by Gadget's paw and sighed sorrowfully when her part of the letter came to an ended. The mouse finished it with word "Proven" followed by three exclamation marks, but chipmunk couldn't exactly tell what her conclusion was.

_I'll ask her when they get back…_ he promised himself and immediately bonked himself mentally. Why should he wait for so long when all the questions could be asked in his reply?

Chip took out another envelope and paper from the bedside table, spread the pages with Gadget's calculations across the bed and became absorbed in his work. He dashed the words with the speed of a laser printer covering page after page with small handwriting, densely interspersing his own words with Gadget's terms and formulas. He didn't know all words and expressions but tried to use as much of them as possible. He knew that Gadget would appreciate his efforts and even if she met some extraordinary non-sense she wouldn't get upset but laugh heartily.

Having finished his work Chip looked at the pile of pages grown up near him and grinned remembering how many efforts it took him to squeeze out just one page of the previous letter. He collected the pages of Gadget's letter, scanned them one last time and suddenly noticed previously unseen line of text, written due to lack of space along the page's perimeter.

"_Chip, tell me frankly, are you alright? I'm worrying for you. Gadget."_

Chip glanced at the pages of his letter ready to be sealed, then took the last of them with just enough space to fit another two or three lines.

_Maybe I should tell them…_

To conceal the truth is one thing. But to tell lies answering a direct question… Can he lie to her? Does he have a right to lie to her?

_No, I don't…_

Then what? Write that something strange is going on here, that he's got problems and badly needs their help?

Chip mentally calculated the flight time to Java, made a correction for time zones and concluded that the letter would reach the isle on December, 17th. According to travel plan his friends would be in Surabaya, the last large city on their way to Semeru. The closest town to the volcano, village of Pano Rami, was just ten miles to the north but, due to extreme dangers waiting for those daring to cross the pristine jungles, had no local Pigeon Express office. If he wanted to call his friends here, he must do it now, with this letter. All other letters would have to wait for their return from the volcano in Surabaya's hotel, after the eclipse.

The eclipse. Gadget's project, Gadget's plans, Gadget's dreams…

_No! I promised!_

His paw began to move, tracing out his answer. The first two letters were the most painful, after that it poured easily.

"_Don't worry for me, Gadget, I'm alright. Wish you and the others to have a good rest, new bright impressions and successful and fruitful observations. Take care. Chip."_

That's it. The dot is placed. What's writ is writ.

No, he can always pick up a new paper and write something totally different…

The question is, what for?

Mr. Harold's ward and Dr. Stone's cabinet are guarded, the medicine storage is checked, and all male mice working in SCH were interrogated as well as more than half of those rejected who will be checked tomorrow first thing. In short, everything is under control and his friends don't need to worry. He and the hospital personnel will do it, and even if they fail, like with the storage mission, the colleagues of Stone and Spivey will come to their rescue. Somehow Chip felt that the name of the drug would tell them everything they need. Or, at least, the most part of it.

It took Chip some time and several attempts to pack the pages of his letter into the envelope but he did it and threw his head back on the pillow. The text written by his friends stood before his eyes and he felt not like lying in the hospital ward but climbing up the stone steps of Borobudur. Little by little the tension and lack of sleep overcame him and Chip didn't even notice when he fell asleep.

When he woke up he found the tray with supper on his bedside table. His letter was nowhere to be seen but chipmunk wasn't alarmed at all and mentally thanked Mildred for her care. Yesterday he didn't even touched his supper, fully engrossed in studying the list of suspects and thinking out individual approach to each of them, but now he was hungry like a wolf. That's why Chip has emptied half of the plate before noticing that the food was phenomenally tasty and without any extra bit of salt, pepper or anything else for that matter.

_Looks like they c__hanged the cook…_ he mused. _Maybe one of the patients complained on the oversalted supper… Or the old one finally mastered the art of cooking…_ Well, if even the local cook stopped oversalting the food, then the life was definitely improving.

*** 4 ***

"May I, boss?"

"Come in! Well, where's our mutual acquaintance?"

"He asked me to go…"

"So he decided to hide? Good thinking, I'm really impressed! No, really impressed! It's unseen even by the medical encyclopedia!"

"It's so bad?"

"BAD?! That's very poor choice of words! We've only two injections of the substance! TWO! Instead of FIVE! Do you know what it means?!"

"Well, I guess…"

"You guess, huh? Well-well…"

"But boss, you are so smart! You'll come up with something for sure!"

"Stop cringing! But thanks for the compliment…"

"Not at all, boss! You are the true master! You…"

"Drop this overdosing… What's this?"

"His latest letter, boss."

"And I was wondering if I have to this, too. Give it to me! … Hmm, that's quite an accomplishment. Here, read it! What do you think?"

"Wow, large as novel! … Hmm… Ghmm… Digits… Lots of digits…"

"And not a single word about _our_ case!"

"And what does it mean?"

"Either he doesn't want to involve his friends or it's some kind of cipher. In any case, it doesn't matter anymore. It's time to discharge our dear friend."

"Discharge…? You mean, get rid of him? No, I'm totally for it but you said that if anything happened to him, his friends…"

"I'll take care of it…"

*** 5 ***

_December, 16__th_

"Hal, do you hear me?"

Harold Bucksup's thick brows moved a bit. Everybody held their breaths and for a few seconds only rhythmic beeping of the equipment was heard in the ward. But then the old mouse slowly turned his head to look at his wife and his face framed with dense whiskers broke into smile.

"Yes, Mizzy, I do…"

His voice was dull and unsteady but for those around him it sounded like a thunder above the dry steppe announcing the long-awaited rain.

"Oh my gosh, Hal…" Mouise whispered. "I… I was so afraid of… of not hearing your voice again…" Her voice cracked and Perry Nutson who was standing right behind her immediately shoved a handkerchief into her hand.

"Don't worry, dear," Harold answered and squeezed her hand encouragingly. "Everything… Everything will be alright."

"How do you feel, Harold?" Spivey asked. He bent over his patient and carefully lifted his eyelids to observe the pupils. "Can you see me?"

"Everything is blurred, doc, but I can recognize you."

"That's good. If it continues this way, soon you'll be jumping around like a kangaroo rat."

Harold gave a constrained laugh.

"You've always been a fun fellow, Spivey."

"Maybe, Mister Harold. But now, I'm afraid, there is no place for fun."

"Don't worry, Spivey, I feel much better."

"I see, but the case is… On the other hand, I'm sure that Mister Chip will explain everything much better."

"Mister Chip…" the old patron screwed up his eyes trying to discern the features of the chipmunk. Chip moved up to the bed but Bucksup still saw just a brown dot. "This name is familiar to me, but I see you not well enough…"

"Mister Harold, I'm one of the Rescue Rangers and would like to―"

"Oh, sure! Forgive me, I should have recognized you at once…!"

"No, Mister Harold, you should forgive _me._ I understand it's hard for you now but I must ask you a few questions. Believe me, I wouldn't do it but you happen to be the only one who can answer them―"

Harold broke him off. "Enough introductions, Mister Chip." His voice was hoarse but commanding. "I don't know how much time I have, so let's stop wasting it…"

Mouise wrung her hands. "What are you talking about, Hal?! You'll recover! Please, doctor, tell him he will recover!"

"Mizzy, please…" This time Harold was an epitome of tenderness. "We both knew from the very beginning that it would be like this."

"But Hal…"

"Mizzy, it's inevitable. I'm old and have no illusions on that matter. You are young and the whole life is before you…"

"I… I don't want to live without you…"

Harold frowned and steel returned to his voice. "Mizzy, darling, don't talk nonsense. You are beautiful, intelligent and gifted and can achieve anything you want, trust me… Excuse me, Mister Chip. I'm listening."

Chip sighed deeply. The investigation entered the next phase. He spent the first half of the day interrogating remaining job applicants but had to return to the hospital with nothing. Thus the attempt to solve this crime on a hot scent failed and it was time to search not a mere executor but those who hired him.

"Tell me, Mister Harold, do you have enemies?"

"Enemies? I had some earlier for sure, but now ― who cares about me?"

"Hal, don't say that!" Mrs. Bucksup interjected again.

"Sorry, dear, but I used to look the truth into the eyes…" Bucksup made a pause and his eyes seemed covered with some mist. "Too bad there were times I wasn't able to see it…"

"The point is," Chip spoke slowly, "that someone attempted to murder you."

Bucksup's bushy eyebrows flew upwards. That is, not flew but moved a little, but for his state it was a very turbulent reaction.

"Murder me?"

"Yes, Mister Harold… What's with you?!" Chip exclaimed when the patron started shaking and wheezing. "Doctor Spivey!"

"I don't understand!" the hamster reacted. "Sensors show no troubles! It isn't a spasm, looks like an asthma attack but Mister Harold never…"

"I'm sorry… to make you… worry…" Harold Bucksup finally said. His breast was moving up and down under the blanket which, in combination with his loud breathing, made him look like forge bellows. "I haven't… laughed like that… for a very long time…"

"So you were― But what's there to laugh at?!"

"Young munk, you can't even imagine how glad I am to hear something like that! If in my age and condition someone still tries to kill me, then the life wasn't lived in vain, don't you think?"

Mouise wasn't happy to hear that. "Gosh, Hal, stop it, please!"

"Excuse me, dear. Looks like I'm not really watching my tongue…"

"Still, Mister Bucksup," Chip repeated, "I would be very grateful if you answered my question. Could you think of anyone? Anything will go ― name, event in the past, threats, unsolved conflict, rivals…"

"It's a hard question, Mister Chip," the patron moved a bit and only those with the sharpest eyes or vivid imagination could discern shrugging of shoulders in this movement. "Sure I have many rivals, business is business, you know… Not to mention that being born as an heir of the Bucksups' riches I already stole many marches…"

"Mister Bucksup, who'll inherit your money after your death?"

"This information is confidential!" Nutson jumped up but Harold stopped him with inconspicuous but firm gesture.

"Don't, Perry, there's no secret. I bequeathed all my assets to my wife."

"Really?" Chip threw a quick glance at Mouise. The actress sat still, looking at her husband tenderly. "No other heirs? What about your children?"

"I and Barbara had no children, Mister Chip."

"What about out-of-wedlock children?" Rescue Ranger kept pressing, watching closely after Mrs. Bucksup's reaction. She didn't even move her fine ear. Either not seeing or hearing anything aside from her revived husband, or…

"How dare you!" the attorney jumped up again. Apparently, in contrast with his client, he heard everything.

Chip remained calm. "Excuse me, Mister Nutson, but don't forget that I'm investigating the murder attempt against your client and ask questions not out of idle curiosity but because there are no trifles in cases like this!"

"It's totally preposterous…!"

"Perry, quiet down!" Harold broke him off. "Mister Chip is right and his question is perfectly natural." He turned back to the chipmunk. "But I have to disappoint you. I have no out-of-wedlock children, either."

_That can explain everything…_ Chip mused. _Probably it was one of the reasons he joined the Cola Cult. Old rich mouse with no one to leave his money to decided to fizz it for it to have at least some use. And marriage with Mouise was also needed to make sure there would be no problems with the heritage. Yes, it explains a lot…_

And narrows the circle of those interested down to the limit.

"What about other relatives? From your former wife's side, maybe? Brothers, cousins…"

"I'm afraid they are too numerous to remember them all…"

"Are there any doctors among them? Someone associated with medicines?"

"Maybe someone from the farthest branches of the family tree. But I think you look in the wrong place."

"Why?"

"Perry, explain."

"Because Mister Harold's will has been written long ago and as it has been mentioned already only one heir is named there at the moment ― Mrs. Bucksup. And nobody else will get a single cent or ounce of cheese no matter how hard they'll try."

"I got it…" Chip said stretching the words out. The actress remained apathetic, not a single strand of fur moved. What was it? Complete estrangement or iron will? The day before yesterday she didn't behave like a cold reserved person. On the other hand, the circumstances were quite different then. Unable to see her husband, she was upset and wrought-up by the worst of expectations. Now the cover of uncertainty fell down, Harold's condition improved and there was nothing to worry about…

_Does she really wish her husband health and longevity?_

Chip moved his jaw thoughtfully. Up to this time he hadn't really considered Mouise a suspect, impressed by the story of the Bucksups Mildred told him. But now when all the technical versions (including such long shots as "What if the killer simply entered the wrong ward?" which was impossible because at the moment Harold Bucksup III was the only patient lying in intensive care ward) and suspects had been worked out, the voice of some really nasty part of his mind telling him to look closer at the young actress started growing louder and louder. After all, she had the most obvious motive and the means to hire someone in the hospital or from the side. She comes here often and knows the floor plan very well…

_But why would she hire someone to kill her already dying husband? It's absolutely unneeded expenses, especially since everything was settled long ago and all the money is in her pocket already…_

Or is it?

"Mister Nutson, you said that only one heir is named in the will at the moment. Does it mean that something can change?"

Harold Bucksup twitched causing all the readings to jump up and his wife instantly grabbed him by his hand.

"Foundation…" the patron winced as if this conversation caused him physical pain. "I thought…"

"Foundation?" Chip asked quickly. "What is it? What Foundation?"

But Harold Bucksup didn't finish the phrase and settled down on his pillow.

"Hal! Hal!" Mouise screamed shaking her unconscious husband.

"What happened?!" alarmed Rescue Ranger asked Spivey. The hamster ran up to the bed, tore Harold's paw out of Mouise's grip and quickly found the pulse. Then he cast a quick glance at the nearby monitors and shouted to one of the orderlies waiting in the anteroom.

"Hugh, call Doctor Stone! Everybody else ― leave the ward immediately!"

"Doctor, doctor…! Hal!" the actress lamented, obviously not wanting to leave. But Nutson took her by her elbow and, just like the previous time, lead her to the doors very tactfully but resolutely. When they were passing Chip the actress looked at him, her eyes dry and full of hatred.

"You killed him!" she said.

Rescue Ranger twitched as though the whole 220 volts of electric current ran through his wheelchair and turned back to Spivey.

"What happened, Kurt?!"

"I don't know, looks like peripheral shock… I think I said to leave the ward!"

"Yes, sure, sorry…"

Chip rotated the wheelchair as quickly as he could and drove out. This mysterious Foundation haunted him but chipmunk knew he wouldn't get the needed answers at the moment. That's why he cast one last glance at Mouise and Nutson standing at the anteroom window and drove straight to his ward. From its threshold he saw Stone, Millie and Hugh running through the section doors. The orderly was carrying a large white box with red lightning bolt drawn on the lid. It was portable defibrillator. Chip followed the nurse and others till they disappeared in the ward, then shut the door and climbed into his bed, praying fervently for recovery of Harold Bucksup who lost consciousness right after his question…

And the mention of the Foundation.

Chip hadn't heard anything about it, although owing to Gadget's active participation in the hospital development he and his team were aware of all Harold Bucksup III's charity projects. Then again, due to recent Sea-City investigation they dropped out from the life of their native megapolis and could have easily missed something. But then this Foundation must be no more then three-four weeks old, and its one of Harold's latest projects, if not his last…

_Maybe that's the case?! Maybe I unintentionally reminded him that he's dying and wouldn't be able to finish his project?_

No, it doesn't look that way, because just ten minutes earlier the old mouse calmly discussed his fate, comforted his wife, eagerly answered the most ticklish questions. And then ― shock.

_Something wrong is here…_

On the other hand, his words could affect Harold greatly. There's a reason for a saying "another man's mind is a closed book". Maybe it wasn't even about the Foundation itself. After all, Millie's off-hand remark about the drop in the sea helped him to uncover the felon's intentions. Could the remark about Foundation give Harold another idea which made him so overcome with emotion that he lost conscience?

_What if it's linked with the murder attempt?_

Foundation ― swan song ― approaching death ― murder attempt ― sudden guess…

_It's possible. Very possible…_

WHAT IF HAROLD BUCKSUP REALIZED WHO WANTED TO KILL HIM? Realized it suddenly, by accident, and this guess shocked him so much his nerves couldn't stand it and his brain issued 'command' for 'emergency shutdown', immersion into a blissful doze.

Another arrow pointing at Mouise Bucksup, for nothing can be scarier than the betrayal of the close person.

But that's just guesses. What about the facts? After all, she isn't the only close person to Harold. What about Perry Nutson? Or Barbara Swissand? He couldn't allow 'another Cheeseman'. He needed bullet-proof evidence. Like Harold's testament, for instance…

_If only he survived, if only he survived, if only he survived…_

But what if this blow turns fatal? Dr. Spivey objected to using of stimulators for a handful of reason, each of which could lead to the patient's death. And the peripheral shock sounded scarier than anything the hamster had enumerated…

_No! Everything will be alright! He'll recover!_

_And what if he won't? Then __I'll become a―_

Chip shut his eyes and pressed his ears to his head in order to see and hear nothing, to shut off everything, especially the voice of his own conscience, which sounded very much like Mouise Bucksup: "You killed him… You killed him…"

_No! I__ didn't kill him!_

"_You asked him a question. You provoked an attack…"_ the dry emotionless voice went on and on. It didn't shout, scold or reproach. It just stated the fact. Issued a diagnosis. Passed a sentence.

_But I didn't know! Didn't want it! It was a common question!_

"_You knew everything. Saw everything. But kept pressing on him. He died because of you…"_

_No! He died not because__ of me! He― HE DIDN'T DIE AT ALL!_

Upon realizing that he shouted the last phrase aloud, Chip opened his eyes and threw a downtrodden glance at the ward window. He expected to see alarmed faces of hospital staff members and patients, knowingly and sympathizingly shaking their heads at the poor little detective's madness. But no one was there, and the chipmunk calmed down. "He didn't die, he didn't die," he said to himself a few times. "Don't limp, Chip! That's precisely how criminal wants you to feel, and if he or she saw you now their first reply would be a happy dance!" Little by little self-reprimanding had an effect and one by one all the thoughts took their places in ranks. In two ranks, to be precise, the ends of which joined and formed an arrow pointing at the one and only way out.

He must solve this case. He ought to unmask those behind the murder attempt and uncover the link between the latest events with this Foundation which probably hasn't been formed yet but already has a mystery associated with it.

It only remained to determine what this mystery was about.

Chip looked sideways at the books about Sureluck Jones piled up on the chair. For the Great Human Detective there were no unsolvable mysteries for he knew how to walk in the felon's, victim's or witness' shoes like nobody else. If only he were here now…

Chipmunk smiled sorrowfully and shook his head. Unlike Dale he didn't know how to talk to imaginary heroes as with real people. He was too rational for this and considered it just another proof of his friend's inadequacy. But now like never before he wished to go slightly mad and see the lean Englishman in caped cloak and a deerstalker hat, pointing somewhere into the mist with his calabash pipe and saying his popular catchphrase he never actually said in the stories: "Elementary, my dear Blotson…"

"May I, Chip?"

"Ah?" Chip gave a start and looked at Millie standing on the threshold with a tray. "Yes, Millie, sure! Come in! I just, well… How is he?"

The nurse shook and Chip moved forward in case there's need to catch the falling tray. But Mildred overcame her emotions and carefully placed the tray on the bedside table. Only then did she sat down on the bed and said in a low voice:

"Bad."

"How bad? I saw you brought a defibrillator…"

"Fortunately it wasn't needed. But the condition is borderline."

"Will he survive? What do Stone and Spivey say?"

"Shrug and ask to hope for the better. What else can they do?"

"What happened?"

"Sudden recession of nervous activity which resulted in deep syncope."

"And…" Chip hesitated. "Do they know what caused it?"

"Doctor Spivey tends to explain it with nervous system overload, stress and sharp intensification of mental and physical activity which simply used up all the resources of the still weak organism."

Chipmunk shook his head. "I see…"

Millie sobbed. "You know, Chip, I'm afraid to imagine what could happen if Doctor Spivey listened to me and administered the stimulator. He wouldn't have survived it for sure. My pride and stupidity would have killed him…"

Chip took her paw. "Millie, what are you talking about? If you want to know my opinion, I'm still sure that your idea was fantastic and if they had listened to your advice Mister Harold would have recovered much quicker and endured the interrogation…"

"Interrogation? You… you interrogated him?!"

Chip cast his eyes down. "Yes. That is, it wasn't an interrogation, just an interview. Mister Harold answered all my questions eagerly and calmly and Doctor Spivey was constantly watching the monitors, and then suddenly everything went wrong… It's my fault. I mustn't have, I… I should have predicted this reaction but I… I got too carried away. I was all geared up to get all the answers today, right now and didn't want to back off. Hurried him up… Oh boy, what I've done…"

Now was Millie's turn to comfort the disheartened Ranger. "No, Chip, don't say that! You were doing your job, your duty! If something went wrong Doctor Spivey would have stopped you beforehand! But he didn't do it which proves that he didn't see it coming! And if even such an experienced medic was caught by surprise then it was impossible to predict! Believe me! Do you believe me?"

Chip nodded. "I do. Thanks, I'm very grateful to hear that from you given your feelings to Mister Harold. To tell the truth, I was afraid that you'd hate me and would never speak to me again."

The female chipmunk smiled though her eyes remained sad. "Oh, please. You didn't want to hurt Mister Harold. On the contrary, you wanted the best for him and for everyone else. And your wish to learn everything and fast is quite natural since nobody knows when… You know…"

"Yes, Millie, exactly," Chip interrupted her to save from saying these horrible words aloud. "Thanks for understanding. I know it sounds cynical but I indeed wanted to seize the first opportunity…"

"Don't make excuses. It's your work and your calling. Medics often have to take risks, too, in order to save the patient or even just give him a chance. Don't blame yourself."

"Okay, if you ask, I won't," Chip answered once again wondering how many he and Mildred have in common.

"Good!" Nurse's smile grew warmer and even her eyes brightened a bit. "Okay, time for me to go…"

"Millie, wait!"

"What? Oh, you need help with the tray! Sure, wait a second…"

"No, it's not about the tray. I want to ask her about something."

"What's that?" the nurse inquired sitting down on the edge of the bed.

"Do you know something about the so-called Foundation?"

"Well, if you mean the Bucksup Foundation…"

Chip jumped up. "Yes! Yes! What is this?!"

"It's one of the latest Mister Harold's projects. He decided to transfer all his funds into the Foundation's assets to finance the charity projects around the country. The San-Angeles hospital was the first one. But why― Wait, you think it has something to do with the killing attempt?"

"The more I think of it the more I become sure of it… Did he announce it on that meeting two weeks ago by chance?"

"Yes, he did it then," Mildred said and Chip heard another piece of the puzzle going into place with a loud click.

"Just what I thought."

"What's wrong with that meeting?"

"Just think about it. You said that when Harold Bucksup attended that meeting he was the embodiment of health and vitality, yes?"

"Yes."

"And just a few days later he was here, sick with unknown illness, right?"

"Right… Gosh!" The nurse pressed her finger to the lips. "I never saw these events as connected but now after your words there's no doubt they are!"

"That's the point. Now consider that as soon as this Foundation was mentioned today Mister Harold lost consciousness from emotional overflow. Not a minute earlier, not a minute later."

For the next half a minute Mildred said nothing, then whispered: "Oh my… It clears the things up, right?"

"I'd say it makes us to look at them from another unexpected standpoint," Chip corrected her. "That's why I absolutely must know everything about this Foundation. Certainly Mrs. Mouise and Mister Nutson could tell much more…"

"They left already," Millie informed him. "Mrs. Mouise said she'd be sitting in the ward until her husband woke up again but Doctor Spivey half-talked half forced her to go home. Sure, had he known you'd want to talk with them, he wouldn't have let them go…"

"No-no, it's very noble act of him," Rescue Ranger objected. He didn't really like them leaving but after today's incident they most probably wouldn't have answered his questions, not to mention that this conversation required a thorough preparation. "But I really need information. Will you help me?"

"Sure, Chip! What do you want to know?"

"Everything discussed during the meeting, especially the Foundation project. Everything down to the tiniest details. Who addressed the audience, what was offered, how who reacted, what was said after the meeting? In other words, everything."

"Well, I doubt I'll remember everything. After all, it was almost two weeks ago…"

"Please, try to do it. Every little thing counts."

"Okay, I'll try. And you'd better eat before your meal grew stone cold."

Chip smiled. "Great idea! And I was wondering what I forgot."

Mildred giggled. "Looks like you need someone to watch over you, otherwise you'd remain hungry!"

"True!" Chipmunk nodded and placed the tray on his knees. "Okay, Millie, I don't want to hold you for too long so let's get closer to the topic."

"Don't worry, in any case I'd have to stay close to take the dishes away." Chip frowned jokingly and the nurse quickly added: "Okay, I know, closer to the topic!"

She looked at the ceiling for some time gathering thoughts, then spoke, carefully selecting words and trying not to omit anything.

"It wasn't an ordinary meeting but a ceremonial one. We celebrated half a year since the discharge of our first real patient. Not one with some cold or a bruise as before but with serious injuries needing immediate surgical intrusion.

"At that time we couldn't even dream of the equipment we have now and the case looked hopeless. But we knew that it was the test for hospital as a whole as well as for every one of us. The test of endurance, of faithfulness to our beliefs and dreams. So this patient was being saved by the whole hospital and Doctor Stone himself operated.

"The conditions were terrible. We lacked everything but most of all ― illumination. Not medicines or bandages but illumination. We brought all the lamps in the hospital into the operating room, and they all fit in there."

"Oh dear…" Chip observed.

"Yes, 'oh, dear' exactly! But the main 'oh, dear!' was two days later when the patient came to his senses. We rejoiced like children and congratulated each other because after this episode nobody doubted the success of the hospital anymore. SCH was established, and all of us were established, too. And while the official opening data is the fifteenth of May, we all know that the hospital became the one on the third of June. That's why that meeting on the third of December signified a milestone…"

"Andh zhe firsht one to shpeag wash that pashiend, yesh?" Chip asked and added forestalling the nurse's question: "Id'z logigal."

"Did anyone tell you not to speak when your mouth is full?"

"Boo-boo-boo!" Chip puffed up his cheeks and bulged his eyes out but quickly assumed business expression and motioned Millie to go on.

"Yes, the meeting was opened by that patient. He thanked everyone who worked at that time for saving him and those who joined later ― for following the example of the Founding Healers. Yes, he said it like that ― the Founding Healers. Then Doctor Stone spoke about the long way we went, summed up the recent developments. He was very upset that your team wasn't there, especially Master Gadget… Hm-m-m, what else? Oh, he also talked about plans for the future, in particular the opening of eastern wing of the upper floor."

"That's where the library will be?"

"Yes, and not only it but also a playroom for children of staff members and patients, gymnasium ― everything to make the work in hospital more comfortable. There will be additional medical rooms, too, as well as prostheses workshop."

"Impressive!"

"Agreed. After Stone the heads of all sections spoke, also reporting about achievements and projects. The last to spoke was Mister Harold and his speech dwarfed all other. He spoke of his new projects the scale of which was beyond imagination. Most of them were planned for the distant future, but the hospital in San-Angeles was regarded as the fact which came true because Mister Harold settled all the disputes with Pacific Center Rodent Division.

"And in conclusion Mister Harold spoke about his future Foundation under the aegis of which all present and future charity projects would be conducted. This Foundation was planned as a coordination council of sorts which would make even more large-scale projects possible."

"And Mister Harold should have become its head, yes?" Chip asked. He instantly saw where the wind blew. The Head of the Foundation was receiving control over enormous funds which he could use at his own discretion. Ranger had no doubts that Harold Bucksup would use them for the good of all. But another director can have his own, less noble intentions.

"No, the Council of Trustees chaired by his wife."

"Really? That's interesting…" Chipmunk frowned so deeply that Millie grew worried.

"Is something wrong?"

"I don't know yet. Anything else?"

Millie retold the rest of Bucksup's speech and the pieces of following discussion she remembered but nothing important.

"I'm sorry," she made a helpless gesture after another of Chip's leading questions.

Chip patted her paw. "It's not your fault; you couldn't have known it would be important. And the negative result is also a result because it narrows the search area, so everything's alright. Thanks for detailed answer."

"But I see that something bugs you."

"It's true. This case turns out harder than I thought before. But it happened so many times in our practice that I got used to it."

"I don't know how you cope with this. Such tension, pace, regime…"

"Me regime is nothing compared to your schedule," despite a smile Chip's voice was full of anxiety. "Yesterday you worked all day and night, followed by another full day today. I doubt I would endure that!"

"The schedule demands it…"

"Millie, have some rest. Please, go home as soon as your shift ends."

"We'll see. I still have some medicine blanks to fill as well as note the recovery progress in the patients' cards, and then…"

"Promise me you won't substitute anyone today. Even if asked to."

"Chip, I can't promise that, you should understand…"

"Remember what Prudence said? She's old and wise and knows what she talks about. If you don't want to listen to me, listen to her at least."

Mildred smiled. "Okay, Chip, I'll try, I'll honestly try. I don't promise but I'll try."

"Well, that's quite some progress already!"

"Yeah, progress… Well, give me the tray. I must be quick to not let anyone ask me to substitute him or her!"

"I like that!" Chip supported her undertaking. He gave her the tray and tried to lower his pillow. It turned out harder than he thought because he simply lacked hands to simultaneously rest upon the bed back, half rise and drag the pillow down under him while still in the air.

Millie came to his help. "Wait!" She moved closer, told Chip to rise on his hands and pulled the pillow to her. Everything went as planned until Chip's paw slipped from the slanting back of the bed. He fell down on the pillow causing Millie to lose her balance. She reached out her hands instinctively to avoid collision but Chip reacted faster and nurse's shoulders met his broad paws. Chip's hands bent damping the blow and prevented them from hitting each other, stopping Millie's face in less then one tenth of an inch from his.

"Thanks," the blushed nurse said when the initial numbness subsided.

"Not at all, Millie," Chip answered faintly.

"I'm terribly sorry, don't know how it happened. Hope I didn't hurt you?"

"No, everything is alright…"

Despite all the efforts Chip couldn't handle the emotions enveloping him. His tongue didn't obey and tended to stick to his parched palate making his voice sound like that of a stranger. Fingers also betrayed him, holding Mildred's shoulders tight and not letting them go despite she was no longer in danger of falling. He just laid there holding her, unable to move his hand or leg. Even his thoughts decided to play hide and seek and scattered among their secret places. There was no feeling of emptiness, though, because something different replaced them. It was more uniform and solid, and thus much stronger. It filled and overrode Chip in his entirety with only a small isle of what is usually called 'the inner voice' remaining. Now this voice, barely audible as though a thick stage curtain, was telling him: _"It's wrong… It shouldn't be…"_

But it was.

"Chip, I…" Millie fell silent realizing that Chip's left hand no longer held her shoulder but was moving up along it. Now the touch of his fingers was only barely felt through the fabric of her gown but she didn't need to turn her head to see where they were and what were they doing. She simply knew it. Chip who was looking right into her grey eyes knew it, too, just like he knew what would follow and what would he do.

"_You shouldn't do it…"_

His hand passed over Millie's cheek and now Chip knew for sure that when he had been pinching her cheek for the red brick dust his senses hadn't failed him. Her fur was indeed much softer and silkier than his and short hairs on the border between her cheek and temple were like the finest velvet. Only now, with only fractions of an inch dividing them, he noticed how thin and regular her features were and how pronouncing the transition from dark brown to biscuit fur on her cheeks was. The bright regions around her eyes curved very smoothly and almost touched at the bridge ending with a small drop of nose slightly protruding forward. Her nose was smaller than Chip's and because of this her face looked more graceful and fragile while her eyes looked larger and more expressive.

"Chip…" she whispered.

"Millie…" chipmunk answered in the same way. He didn't quite heard what she said but read it from the movement of her half-opened lips he caught with peripheral vision but understood instantly and unerringly, because at the moment he could say only one thing, too.

"_Don't do it…"_

Chip's right hand went down on Millie's back while his left one moved deep into her chestnut-colored hair, gently making its way to the center. However impossible it seemed, he managed to do it without rumpling a single hair. Chip couldn't see his paw and it was easy to lose your way in Millie's dense hairdo. Nevertheless, his paw passed just the needed distance and stopped exactly where it should have, because right now it wasn't he who was doing it but that monolithic _something_ which took almost complete control over him.

"_Don't do this…!"_

Their faces started to move closer. Chip's hands held Millie tight, though not forcing but directing her movement. They barely saw anything through half-closed eyelids but knew each other's position precisely and helped one another not to stray from the one and only correct course.

"Chip…" the nurse said with her lips only. It was impossible to hear but they were close enough to feel even the slightest movement of air and the partner and be able and, more importantly, wish to respond to every single one of those.

"_Don't do it!!!"_

BANG!!!

The deafening thunder rolled along the corridor just a moment before the touch. It broke seemingly indestructible ties and made Chip and Mildred turn to the window. The thunder didn't repeat but there were shouts and hurried footsteps of patients and personnel, alarmed with possible repetition of the past incident. Two chipmunks thought exactly the same.

"I'll check it out," Mildred said.

"Yes, please," Chip let her go. She disappeared behind the door and her voice joined the chorus. Gradually the voices subsided and soon Millie returned.

"What happened?"

"Washy dropped a bucketful of water on the floor."

"How is he?"

"Wet but fine. As fine as he can be, I mean."

"Sure."

A ritual exchange of insignificant phrases. Simple non-committal conversation of two rodents trying to behave easily despite being stunned not by the noise but by the thing it interrupted.

"I'll take the dishes."

"Yes, of course. No, don't go around, I'll give it to you!" Chip hastily gave Mildred the tray not really knowing whether he did it to assist her or to make her go away faster.

"Thanks. I'll go, then. My shift is ending…"

"I know, Millie. Till― Till the day after tomorrow, right?"

"Right, Chip, till after tomorrow."

"Have a nice day off, Millie."

"Thanks, you too."

"Thank you," Chip nodded. Actually, he had no days off and no working days for that matter. On the other hand, any non-working day could be considered a day off…

"Good-bye, Chip."

"Bye, Millie."

The nurse left. Chip finished lowering the pillow and outstretched on the bed. After some time he finally relaxed his body but could only dream about peace of heart. It's rather difficult to calm down if you are shaking like on the rollercoaster and there's some steam hammer constantly banging your head, pressing all your thoughts into already familiar supernova core, this time containing another question.

"What was that?"

Something that shouldn't have been, simply because it should have never been.

When Mildred wished Chip a nice day-off he wrote it off as a sign of embarrassment similar to his own. Most probably that was indeed the case but now her answer gained another meaning whatsoever. For her tomorrow was a day off in context of her hospital routine, for him ― in context of her presence.

On her previous day off he thought about her from time to time despite being fully engrossed in the investigation. Now he knew that he badly needed a day without her around, not just out of his sight but out of the building. He was tired, exhausted by the thoughts and sensations her presence invoked. They grew stronger each time, like the waves of the gathering storm which captured more and more areas of the land forcing him to back off, each time surrendering another of those banks he had been building for years.

During these several days he had to make enormous intellectual; and emotional efforts to get his peace of heart back. Each time he was able to find the solutions which, being surrenders per se, allowed him to regain lost tranquility and even become better by helping him to recognize the mistakes of the past and get rid of all those superstitions and complexes he had fostered. That's why watching another bank disappearing under the waves he felt triumphant. But the water kept coming and now the waves were hitting the stronghold he used to consider unshakeable, unassailable and untouchable.

His feelings for Gadget.

_It's impossible! Impossible! IMPOSSIBLE!_

Shouting or not, there's no use. It wasn't just possible. It _was_.

_Why? How? __Where from? But most of all, what is IT?_

He never felt like that with Gadget. He could blush, grew pale, maximum ― grew prostrated after her rare and sudden, but because of this even more desired kisses. But he never lost self-control. Neither when they hugged gaily after another successful mission, nor when they sat in the park by the fountain, nor when they stood on the balcony of HQ observatory holding hands and looking into the night sky. At moments like these he felt warm and happy, considered himself the luckiest chipmunk in the world and was absolutely sure that nothing could ever surpass it.

Up until this day.

_It's impossible! It can't be! Something's wrong here!_

Relaxedness he felt in Millie's presence was easy to explain. The anguish appearing when she wasn't by his side was tougher but he did it. The search for reasons of sudden fit of jealousy almost drove him crazy but he did it again. The catch was that all these feelings were already familiar to him. This new one wasn't. It was the fourth in succession but Chip knew it was the last not in context of hockey team ranks in the tournament table but levels in Dale's favorite video games. Like all other his friend's hobbies Chip considered it just a waste of time but now he was grateful to Dale for this hobby which allowed him to find a suitable analogy and unequivocally determine the class his current problem belonged to.

It remained only to take the three previous results and determine the next element in sequence, or rather progression. In this case interlink must exist, something which can be found in every element. Maybe in different amounts or forms, but necessary in every single one.

_What can it be?_

It's so easy you don't need to visit a gypsy-moth fortune-teller, because he had already answered this question.

It was habit.

The reason for relaxedness, anguish, and jealousy was habit. Something that became an integral part of his life lately (two former cases) or since the very formation of the Rescue Rangers (the latter). Thus it's logical to conclude that this time the habit was also the cause. It remains only to find out which one and…

_Stop. What habit can explain something I'm dealing with for the very first time!_

But what if it's not the first time? What if it's not something new?

_Not new? But how? I never felt like that before!_

Or did I?

_No, it can't be__. I'd have memorized it…_

Supernova blast. Blinding flash. Revelation.

_Memorized in order to remember it later…_

That was it.

Relaxedness, anguish, jealousy, and the new feeling. If viewed as sequence of dots on the graph the new feeling would look like the logical development of the first three, or their next phase. But in truth everything was vice versa. It wasn't their continuation. They resulted from it.

_Comes the morning and the headlights fade in rain_

_Hundred thousand changes...everything's the same_

Time goes by. One epoch replaces another. But in all times something was constant. That's why Chip, despite finding himself in this situation for the first time, knew exactly what to do, because there are things that don't require rich experience or practical skills. Instincts and genetic memory of the past generations are enough. After all, there are no special schools or courses on the laws of anguish, jealousy theorems or rules of falling in love…

_No… No! NO!!!_

Chip shut his eyes and covered them with his fists. He even bit his lip in order not to yell about the hospital. It couldn't really help; if only minimize the quantity of witnesses of his torments. It was cold comfort, to tell the truth, since no shouts can change or cancel something that was, is and will be. That will catch you no matter how hard you try not to notice it or find some other explanation.

Chip must be given proper respect. He really did everything he could to find this explanation. He even developed the full-fledged concept owing to which he had held for unthinkably long time. But nature will always take its toll, sometimes by forcing its way through in the form of sudden instinct, sometimes secretly, as ingratiating inner voice slowly pushing you to the one and only solution for all your questions. There's no guarantee you'll like it, though.

Chip didn't like it. But it was too late to retreat because the answers like this can't be forgotten and they remain with you for your lifetime despite all the attempts to return to the state of ignorance. The state before the moment you suddenly decided to look at your problem from the opposite angle. As long as Chip asked himself what he and Mildred have that he and Gadget don't, he was doomed to get only ersatz answers. But as soon as he asked himself what he and Mildred don't have the tunnel he was in was flooded with a blinding light. In his case it was the headlight of the incoming train but it still was a ray of truth. This time it was the real truth, because unlike all the previous partial answers this one explained everything, from relaxedness to the overwhelming instincts which slept in Gadget's presence but the moment he saw Millie made themselves known because this time something was missing.

The interspecies barrier.

*** 6 ***

_December, 17__th_

_It mustn't be this way!_

"_This is the only way…"_

_It's wrong!_

"_It's the only right thing…"_

_It's impossible!_

"_There are no other possibilities…"_

_Stop it! Shut up! Shut up!!!_

"_You can't shut up yourself…"_

_No, you can! YOU CAN!_

"_Can not…"_

_Can too!_

"_Can not…"_

_CAN TO-O-O-O!!!_

Chip sat up, breathing heavily and looking around with widely opened eyes. Strangely enough, he was still in his ward which at the moment was the last place on Earth he wanted to be in. His pillow and night gown were drenched with sweat, the blanket and the plaid laid on the edge of the bed, and the bedsheet torn out from under the mattress was all in the middle of it. If it hadn't been for his plaster cast leg which kept him from twisting and turning, Chip would have inevitably wrapped himself up into the furnishings like a caterpillar in her cocoon.

"It can't go on like this!" he said to himself. He turned the pillow over and tucked up his blanket which, as one could expect, turned out positioned perpendicular to the bed and thus too short. The fight with unruly furnishing which seemed square by touch took the last bits of his strength and finally Chip gave up. In order to fit under the blanket he had to curl up but this way it was even warmer.

_I must talk to her. Tell her everything. Explain everything…_

"_Yes, __confession is definitely needed…"_

_W__hat are you talking about?_

"_The same as you…"_

_Very good. What am I talking about?_

"_You know it better…"_

_You just have to speak riddles, don't you?__ Wait, it's _her_ phrase…!_

"_See? Not 'her' but '_her_'_…_"_

_No! Not '_her_'! It's not '_her_'!_

It really wasn't her but another nurse, female mouse with bright gray fur, sandy hair and green eyes.

"Good morning, Mister Chip! I'm sorry, I thought you got up already…" she said, looking at the Rescue Ranger tousled after tumultuous night.

Chip screwed up his eyes and rubbed his bridge. "It's okay, Nurse Cotton, don't worry."

Nurse's surprise increased vastly.

"How do you know my name?"

"From the shifts schedule."

"Our schedule? Oh, sure!" The mouse laughed. "Millie told you are the real detective! I must confess I didn't believe everything she said but now I see she wasn't exaggerating!"

Cheep squeezed out a smile. "Thank you…" Sarah Cotton's words brought him back to real world, the integral part of which were yesterday's events and future confession. Such an ambiguous word…

_No! It's not ambiguous! In my case it has only one meaning! Only one!_

"Mister Chip, may I ask you for an autograph for my son?" Sarah asked bringing out the hand-sown sign of Rescue Rangers with blue paper ribbon attached to it. Chip was amazed to see it.

"Wow! I didn't know we have our line of merchandize!"

"Unfortunately, you don't, so I made it myself for my son. He's a huge fan of yours and would be happy!"

"Sure!" Chip took the insignia and the pen. "How about 'To Brave John from Chip the Ranger'?"

"Oh, that would be… Wait, you know even my _son's_ name?"

Chip smiled and shrugged saying 'well, it's my craft after all'.

"Maybe you want to eat in the canteen while I am furnishing your bed?" Sarah asked hiding the sign back into her pocket.

"Canteen? Yes, yes, I do. But I need new clothes, too, I'm afraid."

"Sure! No problem!"

The nurse left to get new pajamas not noticing how her words affected Chip, for whom the phrase 'No problem' had never sounded so pleasant before.

Tomorrow he'll tell her. She'll understand. Maybe not at once, but she'll understand. It's better than keep pretending. The faster they dot all i's, the better. For both of them.

There's a reason for a saying 'nothing is worse than waiting and chasing'. Chip could argue the latter but the truth of the former was undeniable and the absence of any news added to the weight of it.

Harold Bucksup III was still unconscious. Mister Nutson, whom Chip met in the corridor on his way back to the ward refused to spare Ranger several minutes, muttered something barely distinguishable about total lack of time. When Chip asked him whether and when Mrs. Bucksup would come he sniffed even louder and said that she was at home in nervous distress 'after known events'.

_Very opportunely…_ Chip thought but decided not to press on Nutson since he felt not quite in shape to conduct intensive verbal duel which, he knew it, was inevitable. There were only two ways to get information concerning the Foundation ― secret visit to the Bucksup Manor, very effective but undoable without his friends' assistance, or interview with Mouise and her attorney. It was simpler but Chip knew he had to get ready for it since it would be an exhaustive clash of minds and nerves.

Letting Nutson go Chip drove to see Stone and Spivey. He hoped they had some news. He used the rehabilitation section elevator to get to the upper floor and knocked at the doors of the cabinet located in its very center.

"Come in!" Stone's voice was heard.

"Good morning, Harvey!" Chip greeted the doctor.

"Good morning, Chip!" The old mouse looked tired and unkempt which was quite explainable given it was his third day of staying in the hospital, but he was a fighter and didn't complain. "Kurt told me what happened and I'm sorry it went that way."

"I'm sorry, too."

"Well, Chip, it's another proof how unstable Mister Harold's condition in fact is. And it also allows us to hope for another reviving of his, however short it can be."

"Yes, indeed. Still, yesterday he told many interesting and important things, one of them concerning the Bucksup Foundation."

"Bucksup Foundation? What about it?"

"Well, looks like Harold Bucksup announced this project on the third of December during the grand meeting. It should have been the coordination body for all future charity projects."

"Yes, indeed," Stone nodded. "I see you spoke with Kurt…"

"No, with Millie, erhm, Mildred Munkched."

"Oh, yes, I should have guessed," Stone smiled.

"Unfortunately, she knew very little," Chip said and recounted everything he heard, then added: "Mrs. Mouise and Mr. Nutson are currently unavailable so I thought maybe you knew more about it."

Stone shrugged. "No, I must say I know almost as much as Millie told you. See, the first time I heard about it was during that same meeting, so it was big news for me, too. I can only add that after the meeting Mister Harold offered me a place of Deputy Head in the Council of Trustees and I gave him my preliminary consent. That's all."

"Not too much."

"Yes, but it was just the first presentation. Mister Harold himself didn't know all the details. If you want to know more, you should ask either Mister Nutson or Mrs. Bucksup. Or Kurt. He is the curator of our San-Angeles Project and saw Mister Bucksup much more often than me."

"I'll surely talk to him, thanks!"

"Not at all, Chip. I wish you catch those criminals soon. I haven't had such long shifts for a very long time, you know."

"Sure, Harvey, I'll do my best."

"Oh, and one more thing!" Stone said when Chip grabbed the door knob. "I wanted to ask your permission to reduce the number of orderlies guarding Mister Harold's ward from two to one, at least temporary. I know Mister Harold's safety is paramount, but we're running out of hands and we can't hire new workers."

Chip nodded. It was his instruction to hire no one until the end of investigation since it could provide a legal excuse for another killer or even killers to infiltrate the building.

"Okay, Harvey. I think we can reduce the number of outer guards by one third. But not in the ward. It's the last stand and we can't have only one guard there. One person is too easily bought."

Stone's face darkened.

"Yes, you are right. I'll put additional orderly in there then."

Chip nodded approvingly and left the room. He crossed the corridor and knocked at Spivey's door, but there was answer. Apparently, Spivey was making his morning round, so Chip returned to rehabilitation section expecting to meet him there. His assumption proved right.

"Ah, Chip!" the hamster called out from the other end of the corridor and quickly approached the chipmunk. "I've been looking for you! How's your leg?"

"Normal, thanks! Kurt, can you spare me some time?"

"Sure, Chip!"

"Let's speak in my ward, then."

"Well, Chip, how can I help you?" Spivey asked when they got there and closed the door behind them.

"Any news about the drug?" Chip asked right off the bat.

"Not yet."

"It's been almost two days, Kurt."

"I know, Chip, but if our conclusions about the rarity of this medicine are right, the access to it is very limited. You should remember that other rodent medical facilities aren't nearly as numerous and developed as ours. We'll have to wait."

Chip was beginning to hate the word 'wait' in all it's forms and voices, as well as his own inability to do anything about it.

"Okay. What do you know about the Bucksup Foundation?"

The hamster hemmed knowingly. "Oh, I see. I think that's great idea. It's a coordination council of sorts under the aegis of which all present and future charity projects will be conducted, which will make even more large-scale charity projects possible!"

"I know that."

"Really? Then you must know it's the future, the first real breakthrough towards the progress! What we always lacked is organization, really large and influential organization with enough resources to make impact. Harold Bucksup III maybe not the only rich mouse, not even the richest of them, but he's got the rare gift of strategic long-term planning which most of our kind lack. It takes talent to see beyond the boundaries."

"I see you are very fond of him."

"Yes, you can say that. At first I viewed him as just another money bag who found himself a new toy, but the more I worked with him the more my respect was growing. You see, we're going to open another hospital, the Small Pacific Hospital in San-Angeles. It will be located…"

"In Pacific Medical Center, I know that, too."

Spivey was openly impressed. "Oh, looks like there's nothing I can surprise you with!"

"I hope there is. Harvey told me you were the San-Angeles Project curator…"

"Curator is too big a word for my role. Everything was done by Mister Harold. By the time he announced it on the grand meeting two weeks ago, everything was already set. It remained only to choose a team of experienced SCH workers to go there along with samples of equipment. It's the perfect place for rodent hospital and laboratory!"

"Would you go there?"

"I'd love to…"

They spent the next half an hour discussing the prospects of Small Pacific Hospital. Spivey was very enthusiastic about it and could talk for hours. But despite being invited into the Council, details of the Foundation creation were beyond his knowledge.

"You know," Chip said in the end, "I must confess I never gave Mister Bucksup much credit. Even after almost half a year of working with the hospital. But now, after everything I heard about him from you and others I… Well, I can't imagine him dying. That would be the huge blow."

Spivey averted his eyes. "That's an understatement."

"Now I see why you were so much against Nurse Munkched's idea of using stimulators."

Spivey smiled. "Please, Chip, there's no need to call your girlfriend like that. I have eyes and ears and…" He broke off seeing Chip twitching and his smile vanished. "Is something wrong? I thought…"

Chip raised his paw. "Please, Kurt, I don't want to talk about it. I'm sorry for being rude to you then."

"Forget it, Chip. We all have a job to do, and sometimes it's not very pleasant," Spivey said and Chip cast down his eyes. He knew what Spivey meant and felt very bad about it.

"How is he?"

"Holding," the medic said dryly and Chip once again felt miserable. If even Spivey who eagerly assisted him all these days couldn't forgive him yesterday's interrogation, then Nutson's despise was perfectly understandable, if not warranted…

Hamster coughed. "I have to go."

"Sure, Kurt. Thanks for everything."

Spivey left. Chip got on his bed and reclined on the pillow. The fresh furnishing and new pajamas felt stiff at first but then they didn't carry the trace of night agonies and were pleasantly cold, relaxing and calming down impaired nerves. Chipmunk reminded himself that there was no point in winding yourself up and decided to while the time with something more pleasant. Like a book about his favorite hero's adventures, a whole pile of which was at his paw reach…

---

"_First of all, I'm not a Sureluck Jones fan. I read a few stories about him, though. But my grandpa — he was really crazy about him…"_

---

Mildred. December, 9th.

No, detective books will have to wait. On the other hand, he already knows all the stories by heart so it would be better to just lie there allowing the time to flow by. He knows how to do it, knows what to think of…

---

"_Yes, you did it by yourself! Congratulations! Stone wall is a really good choice!"_

---

That's him commenting Mildred's success.

Chip already knew what long sleepless night was. It looked like this time he'd know what long sleepless day was…

The door swung open letting a young male mouse in a stained lab coat in. It was Stewart. His motions were rapid and his eyes flashed bolts of enthusiasm which reminded Chip of Sparky. Apparently, all lab rodents had much in common.

"Mister Chip! Mister Chip!" Stewart slammed the door shut and jumped up to the bed. "I think I have news!"

"What news?" Chip perked up his ears. After conversations with Nutson, Stone and Spivey, it looked like he was the only one whose treatment of Chip was unaffected by the interrogation incident. Probably it was only because Stewart's rank wasn't high enough to know all the details, but his attitude was a welcome change nevertheless.

"Mister Chip!" Stewart plopped down on the bed and breathed deeply. It was obvious he had run all the distance from the laboratory. "Remember you asked me about another options with the samples and analyzer?"

"Sure I do! You found something?"

"Probably. More 'yes' than 'no'. Okay, make it 'yes'…" Now Stewart was sounding absolutely like Gadget which added ground to the hypotheses of similarity of all the scientists. "I found a couple of ways to improve the functioning of heuristics and even more than that, I discovered an undocumented function of 'comparative meta-analysis of current chemical compound'!"

"Undocumented?" Chip felt he was sweating. "Where did you find it then? I thought we read everything that night."

"We did. But we read main documentation only. And that wasn't all! There was another volume, labeled X. I thought it meant 'tenth', you know, in Roman figures, but turned out it was letter 'X'!"

"And what was in that volume?"

"It contained technical notes about already known and potential problems of analyzer operation. Some places were hard to read, much harder than the rest of the manual. I even got an impression that Master Gadget didn't want anyone to be able to read it!"

Chip gulped. "Erhm, are you sure that was 'X' and not 'cross'?"

Stewart looked at him quizzically. "I read it as 'eXtra volume'. What makes you think it could have been cross?"

_By analogy with skull and crossed bones_, Chip thought but decided against saying it aloud. It could discourage Stewart or even outright scare him off, and Chip wanted to hear him out. "Just considering options. What is this secret method about?"

"Oh, as far as I have understood, it's fairly simple. We take the entire database of the known medicines, find those with similar chemical composition and try to predict what properties the tested sample should have."

"Actually, I thought we already did that…" Chip wondered.

"No. We used heuristics to determine the actual composition. Now we use heuristic to determine the possible composition departing from common composition of other known substances of the same class or, if the class is fairly small, from laws of chemistry. It's a real chance to know a bit more about the drug if not everything! What do you think?"

"I think we have to use any means available," Chip answered and added in low voice, glancing at the window. "But we need to keep it as low as possible."

Stewart also glanced at the window and switched to agitated whisper. "Even from Doctor Stone and Doctor Spivey?"

Chip paused. Not that he really suspected the heads of the hospital, but he knew the information tended to leak. He didn't like thriller movies in general since they were fairly predictable. That's why "No Way Out" impressed him so much as it was one of only a handful of thrillers the ending of which he failed to guess despite its obviousness. He also remembered the sequence with damaged photo sheet restoration and what it prompted the bad guy to do. He couldn't let it happen.

"I'll tell them myself when the analysis is finished."

"Yes, yes, of course. I won't say anybody…"

"We won't say anybody," Chip corrected him. "I'm going with you."

"With me? Why? You said we should keep it low! What if someone asks?"

"Then I'll do the talking and you'll pretend you are deaf and dumb. You go first, I don't want us seen leaving together. Go to the lab and sit there, don't talk with anyone. I'll join soon. Where can I find the chief of hospital firemice?"

"Room 144, that's in the north wing. What do you need him for?"

"I have some questions," Chip answered evasively. That night analyzer worked perfectly but chipmunk didn't trust the methods listed in the chapter 'Miscellaneous Problems'. If even Gadget acknowledged their danger, then they'd better beware…

Apart from the ominous cross on its spine, the extra volume looked absolutely identical to the rest. Its contents were a striking contrast, though. It wasn't really structured and looked more like a gathering of random newspaper clippings then finished work. The design notes concerning analyzer's separate modules comprised a major part of it, and Chip began to suspect these materials shouldn't have been brought to the hospital but Gadget got too carried away and just packed it along like she usually did with spare parts. These notes were written in hasty and compulsive manner, but he was familiar with it and understood almost everything. Turned out, Stewart mistook some wordings for their opposites and if he had proceeded to program the analyzer this way, the hospital firemice, electricians and janitors would have had a lot of work that day.

After everything was made out, Chip let Stewart do the programming. Fortunately for them, nobody came to see what they were doing, so they didn't need to cover their actions up.

"How long will it take?" Chip asked when the lab mouse finished and the SMS-envelope on the screen flew away.

"Well, taking into account we chose maximum heuristics depth and the whole database as our scope…"

"Just tell me if we'll have the results by the evening."

"No, I don't think so. Tomorrow's morning seems more reasonable"

"What?! So long?!"

"Like I said, we chose maximum heuristics depth and the whole database as our scope, so yes, it will take that much time."

"Do you think it's safe to leave it working?"

"Don't worry, I have night shift today. And since it's purely software task, it won't interfere with usual routine. It's dual-core processor, after all!"

"Thanks, Stewart, I'm relieved to hear that."

"Not at all, Mister Chip!"

Rescue Ranger nodded and drove away, feeling badly again. Reading of Gadget's raw writings soothed him but as soon as he left the lab the thoughts of future conversation with Millie (_Mildred!_) returned. With each passing foot he pushed the control stick harder, hurrying to leave the corridors where everything reminded him of her, from other nurses wearing the same white gowns as hers to the floor of the same color as her hazelnut hair, so dense, tender and gentle…

In short, Chip couldn't stand it.

He spent the rest of the day in the ward, staring into the ceiling for the most part. Nurse Sarah who brought him dinner tried to start a conversation and Chip tried hard to be polite. But it was clear his thoughts were elsewhere and Nurse left, either offended or imbued with his fidelity to the case at hand and not wanting to interrupt his concentration.

As a result his only entertainment during the day was dinner. He ate slowly, chewing the meal thoroughly not as much to satiate as to prolong the process. After dinner he visited Stone and Spivey again but there were no news and the only thing he could do was to fight the tiredness after the sleepless night. He would be glad to doze off but the moment he closed his eyes he saw Mildred's gentle features and the fabric of blanket under his fingers felt silky as fur on her cheeks. Shaking, Chip opened his eyes to make sure it was just imagination, then clenched his fists till they crackled and bit his lip to drive the sleep and delusion away, but it didn't help much.

Then Rescue Ranger employed another tactics and started telling himself he had to sleep for future since tomorrow he'd have much to do (at least, he hoped so) and he wouldn't have a chance to sleep well. Little by little it worked, Millie's (_Mildred's_) image grew dim, periods of drowsiness became longer and finally Chip fell asleep.

When he woke up the tray with covered dishes was waiting for him on the bedside table. This time he ate with real appetite. Once again the chipmunk felt himself a general who defeated the most dangerous enemy ― you yourself and your fears, and no phantoms bothered him with images or voices anymore…

He woke up at half past midnight. His usually light sleep was even less deep after daytime repose and his ears caught the voices from the corridor. But that wasn't the thing that woke him up.

He could swear he heard someone saying "Nurse Mildred".

There was only one nurse in the hospital with that name. And it wasn't her shift tonight.

But in Mildred's case that didn't mean anything.

Chipmunk took out his crutches and half-opened the door. The section was silent and deserted, only corridor and Harold Bucksup's ward were illuminated. Through the window Chip could see one of the orderlies on duty. It was Garding. Judging from his concentrated expression and the pencil he was holding which moved from left to right and from the top down, he was solving a crossword puzzle. Chipmunk calmed down. If even such responsible worker as Garding got bored then everything was alright. That is, it didn't get worse.

Chip was about to close the door and return to bed when Garding raised his head and nodded to someone leaving the inner chamber. Chipmunk strained. Only six rodents had access to Mister Harold's bed. It couldn't be Mrs. Bucksup or Mister Nutson since the visiting hours were long gone. It couldn't be Stone and Spivey because the orderly wouldn't dare to solve the puzzle in their presence. It couldn't be Chip for obvious reasons. There remained only one…

The door opened and she stepped into the corridor.

Despite late hour and emergency which was the most probable reason for her presence the female chipmunk looked fresh and elegant as always. Even better though it seemed impossible. Magnificent hair, sparkling fur, clean gown which seemed snow-white in comparison with black injection kit protruding from her pocket, graceful gait and well-built frame which impressed him from the very beginning. At the same time something was missing. Just several hours ago at the mere thought about her his heart started missing a beat. Now he saw her in reality but didn't feel anything like that. Admiration, yes, but not obsession. He could be proud with his self-discipline. But in the same time he felt he lost something important…

"Mildred!" he called her aloud. That is, he wanted to call her aloud but remembered it was way over midnight and in the last moment toned down sharply. The result was somewhere between the shout and loud whisper which didn't sound like hail but was still well heard and the nurse twitched. At least Chip thought so, but then decided he was seeing things because she continued walking towards the doors of section not looking back and not slowing down.

_She doesn't want to see me!_ Ranger guessed. He turned around and hopped towards the wheelchair but then another thought occurred to him.

_And what's wrong with that? Haven't I dreamt exactly about it?_

"No!" he answered himself jumping into the wheelchair and pressing full current. Only faint-hearted shrews stick their heads into the sand. He promised to talk with her and he'll do just that. Explain her everything. Now.

"Mildred!" he shouted driving through the glass doors. Here, in the main corridors there were no wards and his calls couldn't wake up anyone except the medical workers sleeping on duty. "Mildred!"

She wasn't there. Chip looked up and down the corridor but she just vanished. He drove to the nearest junction but she was nowhere to be seen. _As though she ran away…_ he thought. What for…?

MISTER HAROLD!

It took Chip some efforts to refrain from disabling another speed reducer as he drove back to the section.

"Mister Chip!" Garding jumped up. Another two orderlies, one of them also in the anteroom, another in the inner chamber followed suit. "We didn't expect…"

"How is he?" Chip cut him short.

"No changes, sir."

"Are you sure?"

"That's what the equipment shows."

"What Nurse Munkched did here?"

"Oh," Garding gave chipmunk a knowing smile, "I knew you'd ask…"

Chip regarded him with his heaviest look and the rat switched back to official tone. "She checked Mister Harold's condition and made a stimulating injection."

"Stimulating injection? Are you sure?"

"That's what she told us," an orderly in the inner chamber, a tall brown squirrel, make himself heard. "She said Doctor Spivey authorized it."

"Really? That's good news!" Chip looked at the screens again and found the cardiogram peaks higher than before. Maybe… At least, there was no worsening which could suggest a foul play.

"Yes, indeed! She said the same!" the third orderly, a mole, added. "She was so happy she was almost crying. We even had to offer her a handkerchief!"

"She had a perfect reason for that," Chip smiled. "Okay, bye!"

"Should I take you to your ward, Mister Chip?" Garding asked. "Or, maybe, to _someone's_ cabinet?"

_Oh, great, the whole hospital knows it…_ Chip thought feeling embarrassed to just be there. On the other hand, the offer sounded reasonable enough, even more so because Chip still didn't know where Millie's cabinet was. But then he realized he wasn't fully ready for this conversation. Yesterday, after convincing himself that this conversation was necessary, he scheduled it for today's morning, thought the situation out and now was reluctant to change the plan. The thorough planning had its downsides, among them ― rigidness. It was bad in general, but this time Chip decided it was better to wait till morning and have some more sleep before the storm.

"Thanks, Garding, I'll go by myself. Thanks for your vigil, everyone. Good night!"

"Good night, Mister Chip!"

Rescue Ranger crossed the corridor and entered his ward. As soon as the door closed behind him, the nurse who watched him from behind the corner on the far end of the corridor sighed in relief. _Does he ever sleep?_ She thought in frustration going down the corridor towards the main hall.

"Hi, Hammy!" she greeted old hamster at the reception desk. "Any mail for my section?"

"Please wait, Nurse Munkched, I'll take a look," the hamster got up clumsily and doddered to the letter boxes on the table at the far wall, but turned around halfway there. "I thought tonight wasn't your shift…"

"Had to return to fill a couple of forms," the nurse explained. "And if I'm already here, why not do everything at once?"

"Sure, sure…" Hammy went away and soon returned with two letters. "Here they are!"

"Thanks, Hammy. Good night!"

"You too, Nurse Munkched, you too!"

The nurse took the envelopes and went back into the hospital, but on the third junction turned not right, to the rehabilitation section, but left, to the personal cabinets. She tore the second letter she had to take to avoid suspicions to pieces which she dumped into several separate trash bins along the corridor and only then approached the door with a placard reading "Rehabilitation Section. M. Munkched, S. Cotton." Looking around and making sure nobody's watching, she unlocked the door and went to the table on the right side. She quickly opened the letter, read it and placed it along with injection kit into the right lower drawer on top of another envelope which had been there for two days already and read, in part:

'Isle of Java, Surabaya, Hotel 'Plaza'. Receiver: Rescue Rangers. Till Called For.'


	8. Chapter 8 Personal Oversight

**Chapter ****8**

**Personal Oversight**

*** 1 ***

_December, 1__8__th_

Chip woke up before dawn, approximately at 6:30 as his senses told him. His awakening was sharp and final as if someone clicked the switch ― yesterday's dozing and anxiety before the morning explanation was the cause. Chip spent the time until Mildred's morning round preparing for the latter and when the black square of the curtained window became grey he knew exactly what and when he would say. Chipmunk thoroughly thought out every word and gesture and when around half past seven the steps were heard in corridor he braced himself up and prepared to meet Mildred fully armed.

"Good morning, Millie!" he greeted the nurse entering the room.

"Good morning, Mister Chip!" a pretty-looking brown-haired female squirrel answered, giggling.

"You know…"

Only now Chip became aware that the events developed in an unexpected way. "Hello, Nurse…"

"Clemson. Lisa Clemson."

"Oh, yes, sure, sorry, Clemson, Clemson, sure…" Rescue Ranger was profuse in apologies. Then he realized that the more he was saying, the stupider he looked and tried to settle down.

"Could you please tell me if Nurse Munkched is on duty today?"

Chip planned his plain voice to produce him an image of very serious and reserved chipmunk but after his previous bewildered chatter it looked even more comic then an average anecdote.

"Sure!" the nurse answered barely holding her laughter. "Just lots of paperwork, that's why she asked me to make the round for her."

"Oh, so she's in hospital? Great! Can I see her?"

"You won't even have a breakfast?" the squirrel girl smiled meaningfully and Chip turned red to his ear tips.

"No, surely I'll eat first!" he said quickly. The nurse opened the curtain and left. When she closed the door behind her Chip covered himself with the blanket and punched his forehead with his fist. Buffoon, just a buffoon. Even Dale would have behaved much more natural. Then again, his friend's entire life was like a circus performance, but sometimes spontaneity is essential and this time Chip lacked it awfully. In general, there's nothing bad in comprehensive planning like there's nothing bad in trains moving along the tracks. Very quickly and neatly, in fact. But only if you don't forget about flexibility and can switch to another track before the tracks lead you into the intercepting dead end.

Still, this failure was nothing compared to the Cheeseman incident. Moreover, it was even for the better. He'll talk to her in her cabinet. She'll be sitting in the chair and their eyes will be on the same level which is quite important at times like this. There was a slight shadow of a doubt about the real reason why Mildred asked Lisa to replace her. Maybe she didn't want to see him, which meant she'll be happy to hear what he was going to say. Maybe she didn't want to see him being afraid to hear what he was going to say her…

This meant he still had to talk to her about it.

Chip ate his breakfast without really chewing it and asked Nurse Clemson how to get to Mildred's cabinet. He even drew a map on a napkin to be sure and went there. The further he went, the faster his movements and average speed became. Upon reaching the needed door he inhaled deeply. He couldn't make himself to talk about it tonight; he failed to do it in the morning. What now?

"This time everything will be alright!" Chip didn't say but ordered himself. First two failures mean nothing, even more so, they help to prepare for it. Even Monty would have said that three was a lucky number.

"No, I don't need any superstitions!" chipmunk pulled himself up but for some reason knocked exactly thrice.

The answer came immediately. "Come in!" It was Mildred. Chip would never mistake her voice for anyone else's, even through the door.

"Good morning, Millie," he said upon rolling in. The nurse sitting at the table to the right shook and slowly put her pen aside.

"You, Chip?" she asked without turning around.

"Yes, it's me."

"You are early. I thought you were still sleeping."

"I even had a breakfast already."

"What?!" now the nurse swung around. "Wait… What time is it?!"

"Eight…"

"Gosh, sorry, I was so busy I forgot about everything!" she motioned at the blanks scattered over the table. "I didn't have time to fill them all at home and I must hand them in by ten…"

"Then I'll come later!" Chip exclaimed with sudden joy but the very next moment scolded himself for another fit of timidity. Never before had he clutched at straws handed to him with such eagerness. It was just pathetic.

_But what should I do now? Leave? Or stay? But how can I stay now…?_

"No, Chip, wait, you… you don't interfere at all!" Mildred stopped him and chipmunk rapidly rolled into the room before she could change her mind.

"Really? Thanks for…" Chip almost said 'excuse' but stopped just in time. "For invitation!"

"Erhm, not at all! Want some coffee? I hope your head…"

"Is perfectly alright!" Ranger finished for her. "With pleasure! Coffee, I mean…"

"Good, I'll be right back!"

Mildred went to the table with cups and coffee-making accessories in the far corner of the room. Chip used the pause to think everything over once again. Yesterday, according to orderlies, she even cried in the ward. Now she was much calmer or so it seemed which could mean she's in fact on the verge of nervous breakdown. That's why Chip decided against telling her everything at once and chose to speak in a roundabout way to gradually lead her from something pleasant down to the main topic.

"How is Mister Harold? Any changes?"

"Not even a little."

"But no worsening, too, yes?"

"Yes," Millie agreed, "but in his condition that's cold comfort."

"In any case I'm glad you managed to convince Doctor Spivey. I'm sure it'll help."

"Convince?" Millie asked with open irony. "Rather, he convinced me."

Chip was surprised to hear that. "Indeed? Well, I didn't expect that. I honestly thought everything was lost."

"Wasn't it?"

"No! As for me, everything is just great!"

Mildred hemmed. "_Great_ is rather a poor word choice here. You know, you are talking like someone who wasn't present during the talking!"

"What for? You did it yourself and did it good! Knowing Spivey's character I can understand how hard it was!"

The nurse twitched and spilled a small amount of coffee on the table.

"You know, Chip, I already got used to your manner to speak riddles but this time you surpassed even yourself! What the heck are you talking about?"

"What do you mean by that? About Doctor Spivey's permission to use stimulator, of course!"

Mildred almost let the coffee pot down.

"He… He gave his permission?! Chip, is it true?!"

"Well, yes," chipmunk nodded, dumbfounded by her reaction. "You said that yourself tonight."

Millie grew pale. She carefully put the shaking pot on the table and slowly turned to Chip.

"Chip, you are mistaken. I wasn't here tonight!"

Now it was Chip's turn to clasp the handles in order not to fall out of the wheelchair.

"What do you mean?! I saw you in the section corridor tonight! You are frightening me!"

"_You_ are frightening me, Chip…" Millie muttered as she came up to him and passed her paw over the barely seen bruise left by the vial of aspirin. "Gosh… Could it be…"

"I'm perfectly fine!" Rescue Ranger waved her hand aside. "I wasn't seeing things and remember everything!"

"But Chip…"

Mildred didn't have time to finish. There was a loud knock at the door closely followed by Doctor Spivey bursting in.

"Nurse Munkched! I'd like to… Oh, Chip, you are here, too! Well, that's even better!"

"What's up, doc?"

The hamster was burning with fury. "Something preposterous I'd say! Nurse Munkched, where have you been tonight?!"

"Doctor Spivey, wha― what happened?"

"Answer the question!"

"Don't shout, Kurt, there's no use in shouting!" Chip cut him short, then addressed the frozen nurse. "Please, Millie, tell us where you were tonight."

"At home. At my home."

"At home, you say!" Spivey exclaimed. "Heard that, Mister Chip?! She said she was at home?!"

"Kurt, please, calm down! Could you explain what's going on?"

"Explain?! Certainly! Garding, come in!"

The rat-orderly who was waiting behind the door appeared.

"Garding, tell Mister Chip everything you told me!" Spivey ordered.

"Me, Diggers and Goldnut were on duty in the ward," Garding began. He spoke in short completed phrases, refined and consecutive, just like one must report to the superior. "At 12:22 AM Nurse Munkched came…"

"That's not true!" Millie shouted. "I was…"

"Quiet, Nurse!" Kurt broke her off. "You'll have your turn! Go on, Garding!"

"So, at 12:22 AM Nurse Munkched entered the ward. I knew she had access to Mister Harold but I was surprised with such a late visit and asked her what happened. She said she was there with the knowledge of Doctor Spivey who allowed her to try and use the stimulator in Mister Harold's treatment…"

"Heard that?" Spivey interjected. "I allowed her to use stimulator!"

"And you… you didn't?" Chip slowly asked.

"Sure I didn't! It's too dangerous, and after this second breakdown even more so! But, as we all can see, it didn't stop her!"

"That's not true! Chip, Doctor Spivey, there was nothing like that! It's a lie! Chip, I…"

"Please, Millie, sit down," chipmunk said in a low voice but his words, much quieter then the hamster's, had a hundred times bigger effect on the nurse. Her shoulders drooped and she sat down on a chair.

"It's all lies…" she mumbled, looking at three males like an animal at bay. "I wasn't here yesterday. Garding, why… why do you lie to us all?"

Orderly's nostrils widened but Chip didn't let his anger pour out.

"Tell me, Garding, have you solved the crossword?"

"Not yet… How do you know?!"

"That's not important," Chip said. Now when he made sure he hadn't dreamt tonight's events up, he turned to meet Millie's gaze full of prayer and hope. "Please, Millie, explain it to us."

"Chip, I wasn't here! Please, believe me!"

"I would have believed you, Millie, if I hadn't seen you with my own eyes."

"Here! Here!" the hamster instantly perked up. "Even Mister Chip says he saw you! And you dare to deny it?! How can you…"

"Don't, Kurt! Please, Millie, tell us everything!"

"But Chip, I― I don't know what's going on here! I wasn't here tonight! What, what should I do to make you believe me? To make you all believe me?!"

"Start telling the truth!" Spivey snapped and Chip raised his hand calling everyone to settle down and first of all himself.

"Millie, listen," he took the nurse by her paw and looked into her eyes, almost colorless from the tears welled up in them. "I understand you perfectly. I know you are very kind and Mister Harold means much to you and you want to help him. I'm sure Doctor Spivey will understand you, too. Please, tell us everything frankly. I ask you as a friend. Tell everything, Millie. For us― erhm, for us all! Please!"

"Chip," Mildred squeezed his fingers as hard as a vice, "I have nothing to tell! Believe me, please! I beg you! I didn't do it! I did nothing of that!"

"It's no use, Chip!" Spivey commented. "See, she'll never confess it at will…"

"Stop it, Kurt!" Chip shouted at him. "You'd better promise you'll forgive her if she tells everything…"

The hamster grew red.

"FORGIVE?! Don't you understand what she did?! It's not a simple negligence or an oversight, it's… It's blatant irresponsibility! It's…"

"Kurt! Stop it! Don't you understand?!" Ranger turned back to Mildred. "Listen, Millie, I promise, no, I swear you won't be punished for this! Do you hear me? You won't be punished! Please, tell us everything and everything will be as good as before! Do you believe me?"

"But why, Chip…? Why don't _you_ believe me? Why?!"

"Millie, please! Please!" Chip repeated. Millie's stubbornness began to irritate him. If she presented her own account of events like Cheeseman did it would be one thing. But to deny such obvious things, to deny FACTS was so irrational for her part it was way beyond his understanding.

"I didn't do it… I didn't…" she whispered through tears and covered her face with a handkerchief.

"Millie, please!" chipmunk took her by her paw again. "Tell everything, please! Why carry everything to the point of absurdity?! Everybody will understand you, I promise! I'll talk to Spivey, to Stone, to everybody! Everything will be alright, you'll see for yourself! Just tell us where did you put that injection kit?"

Mildred shook. "What kit? What injections?"

"The kit you carried when you went out of the ward. Black oval box. Please, tell us…"

"Yes, Nurse Munkched, tell us!" Spivey added. "Don't force us to take extreme measures!"

"Ex-xtreme m-measures?" Millie asked.

"Searching."

"What…? Searching…? But― but why? Why?! Chip! Tell him! Tell him!"

"Millie, please," Chip repeated his plead. His heart was bleeding at the sight of her suffering. "We are friends, Millie! Please…"

"If we― if we are friends…" Mildred sobbed. "Then why… why you don't believe me?"

Chip didn't answer, just squeezed her hand once more. "Millie, please…" he uttered in desperation.

"Well, Nurse Munkched, I'm afraid you don't leave us any choice," Spivey stated, then ordered. "Garding, search everything here!"

"Everything?" the rat asked. "You mean, everything and all? But…"

"Do what you are told, Garding!" Spivey repeated in monotone. "First her table, then the next one and further according to recipe."

"Okay, boss," the orderly shrugged his shoulders, stepped up to Millie's table and started digging through the papers piled on it. Millie covered her face with paws and looked away, unable to stand the sight of this pillage. Chip also avoided looking there. He tried to put his paw on her shoulder but Mildred shrugged his hand of as though it was some dirty wet rag. Chip lowered his eyes and they sat there, close and at the same time infinitely far away from each other, looking somewhere inside themselves and shivering from harsh sounds Garding was making while pulling out the drawers and dumping their contents on the floor.

"Millie, please," Chip asked quietly. "While it's not too late… Please…"

Just three short sobs in response.

"Please, Millie."

"Chip…"

"A-HA!" Spivey shouted running up to the next drawer Garding pulled out and lifting a black box lying on top of it over his head. "Here it is! What will you say now, Nurse Munkched? Speak up! I demand explanations!"

The female chipmunk shook her head. Her eyes were wide with terror and surprise. "I… It's not mine! Not mine! I don't know what it is!"

"You know it better than anyone else! It's our standard syringe case! Garding, did she come with this to the ward?"

"Yes, with this!" the orderly nodded. "This is it!"

"If it's indeed you standard syringe case it's more correct to say 'similar'," Chip corrected him but did it rather automatically, for form's sake since all the facts unambiguously suggested this was indeed that case.

"I don't understand…" Millie muttered. "It must be a mistake…"

"Mistake, you say?!" asked the doctor not without sarcasm. "We'll check it right away! Let's see what we've got here… Two syringes… And what's this?" Spivey fetched a little vial with transparent liquid from the special compartment. "Nurse Munkched, what is this?"

"I have no idea…"

"No idea? But I've got one! It's cordiamizol! Is this what you injected Mister Harold? Answer!"

"I injected nothing… I wasn't here…"

"Enough! I heard that already! Know what? I'm sending these syringes for analysis, and if even the tiniest trace of cordiamizol is found in one of them, you won't get away with some simple penalty! Do you understand?! Garding, Chip, wait for me here… Chip? Chip?! What's with you?!"

Chipmunk said nothing. He was unable to say anything right now. Every hair of his fur assumed vertical position while his eyes almost as big as nickels, saw nothing but two mail envelopes previously covered with the syringe case.

"Chip?! Chip… Wait, what's that?" Spivey picked up the envelopes. "Small Central Hospital, Rehabilitation Section, Ward No. 6… Chip, it's for you!"

"Give them to me, Kurt," chipmunk said. His hand stretched towards the envelopes was already shaking violently but when he saw that both letters were opened he almost had a heart attack.

"Chip, what is it?" Millie inquired. She moved closer to him but stopped short meeting his glance which contained the cold of North and South Poles combined.

"Millie, how can you explain it?"

"I don't know, Chip, but what's that?"

"Letters. _My_ letters, Millie. Where did you get them?"

"Chip, I see them for the first time…"

"Don't lie to me, Millie!" Chipmunk pointed at the letter addressed to his friends. "I wrote this letter on the 15th, right after our visit to the hospital storage room. You took it when you brought me supper. I put it on the bedside table and it wasn't under the tray. And now it's found in your table. How did it happen?"

"I have no idea," she whispered. "You are right, I took it from your ward but immediately dropped it into the hospital mailbox! It's true!"

Chip frowned, thinking. He wanted to believe her, really wanted. But taking into account her denying of obvious things he just couldn't do it. Still, he felt obliged to check everything, to give her a chance…

"You say you were at home tonight?"

Mildred's face brightened. "Yes, Chip, yes! At home! I was at home!"

"Is there anyone who can confirm it?"

"Well, I live alone, you know…"

"Very neat explanation of alibi absence, don't you think?"

"What? You mean…"

Chipmunk didn't deign to answer her; instead he looked at the second letter. According to the stamp of Soekarno-Hatta Airport, it left Jakarta via the evening flight. Considering an average flight time and the 15-hours time difference it should have been delivered to the hospital sometime between 11 PM and 12 AM.

"Kurt, how is the mail delivered here?"

"The same way as everywhere ― by mail pigeons."

"And then nurses carry them to the appropriate sections, right?" Chip pointed out, remembering that the first letter from his friends was brought by Mildred.

"Yes. Pigeons leave them at reception where they are sorted and the nurses on duty deliver them to the wards and cabinets."

"Who was on reception yesterday between 11 PM and 12 AM?"

"Hamlock Bruster."

"Is he here?"

"No, he's left home already."

"Bring him here as fast as possible."

"Okay, Chip, I'll arrange everything. Garding, stay here with Mister Chip and Ms. Munkched! I'll be back soon!"

Spivey left. Garding sat at the door, crossed his hands and gave Millie a piercing look, clearly expecting the twofaced nurse to try another trick. There was silence in the room only seldom broken by Mildred's sobs and rustling of envelopes Chip fiddled nervously, praying for this Bruster to live somewhere nearby and not on some Pacific Heights.

In an hour and a half Spivey came back along with the whole procession including Doctor Stone, Turkle and two rodents Chip wasn't familiar with. The first one was a stout white-haired hamster, from all appearances, aforementioned Hamlock Bruster, and burly old female mouse with bright-red, obviously dyed hair.

"Good morning, Chip!" the head of the hospital greeted him. "Kurt didn't actually explain anything, just told me it's very important. Maybe you can tell me what's going on here?"

"Certainly, Harvey," Chip responded, "but first I'd like to ask Mister Bruster a few questions. Mister Bruster, am I right?"

"All correct, young chipmunk! Hamlock Bruster in person!" the hamster introduced himself. He managed to sleep for only two hours but held on very good, aside from blinking twice as often as, for instance, Spivey. The same could be said about the female mouse which allowed Chip to deduce that she was the woken up night shift worker, too.

"Tell me, Mister Bruster, were you the night receptionist last night?"

"Yes, it was me!"

"From what time?"

"From the very beginning, on time without fail! From 9 PM!"

"In other words, the night mail should have been delivered while you were on duty?"

"Should have been and was, young munk, as always! At 11:30 the bird flew in, yes!"

"Were there any letters for Rehabilitation Section patients?"

"There were, were! Two letters, I remember exactly!"

"Do you know who took them?" despite asking this question in the same voice as all the previous, Chip's heart squeezed tight. _Please, not her! Not her, please…!_

"Sure I know, how couldn't I? She took them!" Hammy waved in the direction of the death-pale Mildred. "Nurse Munkched!"

"It's not true!" she exclaimed. "Hammy, how can it be…? What's happening…? It must be a nightmare…"

"Mister Bruster, are you sure?" Chip asked in dull and empty, as though computer-synthesized voice. "She was the one you saw? She was the one you handed the letters?"

"I'm stone-brick sure, Mister Chip! Handed them from hands to hands! I even wondered why she was there since it was not her shift…"

"Not mine, not mine!" Millie joined in. "It's a mistake! Misunderstanding! I wasn't at the hospital tonight!"

"And what did she say?" Rescue Ranger inquired paying no attention to her lament.

"That she returned because she forgot something and decided to take the letters, too. That's what she said."

"Thank you, Mister Bruster, you may go. They'll drive you back."

"Many thanks! My legs are far from what they used to be, you know! Good-bye!"

"Golly, Golly, Golly…" Millie whispered. She rolled into a tight ball and buried her face in her knees. "How can it be? What is it? Why is it?"

"Will anyone tell me what's going on or not?" Stone asked again, now looking at Chip, now at his deputy and the next moment at the nurse, shaking like the whole aspen tree.

"Sure, Harvey," seeing that Chip wasn't in condition to explain anything, Spivey took the initiative and retold everything, starting with his morning round and conversation with Garding and other orderlies and finishing with the results of syringes examination.

"Just like I thought," he summarized, "one of them contained traces of a stimulating drug, cordiamizol. Exactly this drug Nurse Munkched proposed to use. I was absolutely sure I managed to convince her if not to abandon this idea then to wait with it. But as you can see, her agreement was just a screen…"

"Is it true, Nurse Munkched?" Stone asked menacingly.

"No, no it's not! Please, Doctor Stone, believe me! I didn't do it!"

"See, Harvey? Not only was she impudent enough to come to the ward and told the orderlies I sent her there but she also continues to deny everything! And that's despite being seen by Garding, Chip, Hammy Bruster and," he pointed at the dyed-haired mouse "Mrs. Oswald, the night shift storage keeper! Tell us, Mrs. Oswald, what happened tonight?"

"My shift started at nine. Everything went on as usual, everybody needed something…"

"Closer to the topic, please!"

"Yes, Doctor. By eleven the flow of orders ran dry and I was able to make me some tea. When I came back to the counter I saw Nurse Munkched. She was in a hurry, I must say. She needed two-percent cordiamizol. It was the first time I heard about it but she told me it's new medicine and we got it only lately. And yes, on the shelf with drastic medicines I found two vials…"

"Just two?" Stone asked.

"Yes," Spivey confirmed, "at the moment we only have two. We mastered the adaptation process only recently and expect to reach the rate of ten dozes per week. It's a fairly decent rate for such a complex drug, not to mention it's used only rarely and this quantity will more than cover our needs."

"I see…" Stone nodded. "How many vials did Nurse Munkched take?"

"One."

"One? And how many…"

"Five dozes," Spivey answered immediately.

"Thanks, Kurt! Thank you, Mrs. Oswald, you are free. And now, Miss Munkched, I'm waiting for explanations!"

"Doctor Stone, this is… I don't know, don't understand…"

"Really?! And you, Chip… Chip?"

Spivey touched the old doctor by his sleeve. "I'm afraid, Harvey, that at the moment Chip isn't quite…"

"I'm fine," chipmunk interrupted him. "Fine…"

"What _else_ happened?" Stone not darkened but blackened.

"As far as I have understood, Nurse Munkched didn't bring Chip the letters from his friends, so to speak."

Stone's eyes started to pop out of his head. "WHAT?! So we're dealing not only with a case of malicious abuse, but with poking into others' mail?! That's… That's beyond any limits! Miss Munkched!"

"Doctor Stone…"

"Shut up! You… Do you understand what you've done?! Do you understand what a mean and unworthy deed you made?! You…"

"Well, Harvey, I wouldn't have put a question this way," Spivey observed. "After all, the youth often does crazy things because of love! Be lenient…"

Stone bristled up, his face became crimson and the veins stood out on his forehead, visible even through his bushy eyebrows. "Lenient?! No way! I won't tolerate anything like this in my hospital!!! Kurt, arrange the urgent meeting for tomorrow! We can't pass this situation by!"

"But maybe we shouldn't raise _this _question there? As for me, the story with the stimulator is quite enough…"

"No, Kurt, we can't! The reputation of the entire hospital is at stake! We can't conceal it! This episode must serve and it WILL serve a lesson for everyone! As long as I'm the head of the Small Central Hospital, there won't be a place for immoral and unprincipled characters! I want everyone to remember it! Is it clear?"

"Clear, boss…"

"Doctor… Stone…" crying Mildred could hardly speak. "Please… I… It's not… me…"

"Know what, Miss Munkched!" the elderly doctor was growling now. "I saw many things and people in my life, but don't remember such hypocrisy! So this is your gratitude for trust and honor you were given?! And Mister Harold himself supported you, come to think of it! If he knew it, he would die out of disgrace! I… I'm ashamed to have accepted you here! Go away!"

"NO, DOCTOR STONE!!!" Mildred fell down from the chair on her knees. "It's not true! Not true!!! CHIP! PLEASE!!! BELIEVE ME!!! I BEG YOU-U-U-U!!!"

Chip raised his head.

"Garding, can you help me?" he said without even looking in her direction.

"Sure, Mister Chip," the orderly answered.

"I see our hero is upset with something," Turkle commented through his teeth, enjoying every bit of his enemy's torment. But Chip didn't care. After Mildred's deed Turkle looked like a plaster saint.

"CHIP! PLEASE! PLEASE!!!" Millie shouted reaching out after the wheelchair. But no matter how loud she shouted Chip didn't hear her. He just sat there, hunched, his look vacant and burnt-out, pressing two envelopes to his heart.

*** 2 ***

When Nurse Cotton returned in an hour to get the tray she found that in her absence nothing changed in the ward number 6. The patient was lying on the bed in the same position as before, encircled by the paper sheets densely covered with letters. The dinner tray was still on the bedside table and it was clear it had been neither touched nor even looked at.

"Mister Chip, your dinner…"

Two short head shakes.

"Do you want to have a walk? I can drive you…"

One head shake.

"Should I take the tray away?"

No response. Only a paper turned over, meaning simultaneously "yes" and "go, please". The nurse did just that: took the tray and left, quietly closing the door behind. Urgently called to the hospital, she didn't know all the details but heard that something extraordinary happened. That Mildred Munkched, with whom she'd worked for several months and who always agreed to substitute Sarah when she needed to stay with her son, turned out a thief or a swindler who had to be escorted out of the hospital by force by two orderlies. It was hard to believe but the receptionist lady who saw it with her own eyes spoke with such ardor it was impossible not to believe her…

_Impossible! Impossible!!! IMPOSSIBLE!!!_

Unfortunately, it was possible. And even worse than that, real. As real as the letter from other Rangers which Chip had read almost twenty times by now but couldn't really say what it was about. It happens when you read while thinking of something else and your eyes scan the text without seeing it.

The only thing Chip understood was that his friends were leaving hospitable Surabaya and starting towards the volcanoes. With only three days remaining until the eclipse Gadget wanted to reach the site as soon as possible to adjust the equipment and acclimatize. That's why the lack of answers from their friend and leader worried them and they asked if something had happened. But even if Chip could speak with them directly without the help of fast and still infinitely slow mail he wouldn't be able to answer this question. Because he himself didn't know what happened and couldn't believe it.

He could neither eat nor sleep nor do anything else but shuffle through the papers and move his fingers over torn edges of envelopes sealed by the dearest beings in the world and opened by the monster deserving only one feeling. Hatred. Not vehement and violent, though, with shouting, chases and fight to the last drop of blood but empty and dry when you clearly understand that whatever you do it would be too little. Very, vanishingly little.

---

"_I don't know if I can call you my friend but… but want it very much. That is, personally I consider you my friend. But whether you consider me a friend is another question…"_

"_Yes, Chip, I do…"_

---

The most frightening here was that she wasn't lying. She indeed considered him his friend. But, turns out, not only and not as much a friend as something bigger. Some sort of property which belongs to her alone and has no right to write warm words to another girl.

Chip sobbed and swept the tears with his sleeve. Last time he felt something like this when he thought that Dale was eaten by the shark guarding the largest pearl in the world. But this time everything was even worse, and not because Dale was found alive almost immediately then. This time Chip lost something even more important.

Faith in this world.

---

"_I don't know about you, Mister Rescue Ranger, but I'm still able to distinguish the imaginary world where weapons aren't needed from the real one where it's totally necessary. Oh, yes, I forgot! You are a living legend, you can be pardoned…"_

---

'A living legend', come to think of it. If he mentions it to someone he'll be laughed at, and with a reason for if there is someone worthy of this title it's not him. He's just a small chipmunk with disproportionately big ambitions to change the world around him for the better, which plainly contradict his own conservative and limited outlook, his attempts to push everything around him into some strict classification and separate everything into black and white. And if something doesn't fit the scheme, it's either ignored or is made black or, like in this case, is whitewashed beyond recognition.

_I felt it from the very beginning! Something was wrong! She was telling me too much! She was demonstrating her trust and openness too pronouncedly! And I just __listened open-mouthed, even blamed myself for paranoia, for seeing enemies everywhere, for radar malfunction! Promised myself not to let the summer episode repeat… Fool! Fool!_

That June events left their mark. At that moment Chip finally and irrevocably realized what Dale, Gadget and Rescue Rangers as a whole meant for him. Now he knew for sure they'd never betray, never plot against him, never hurt him. But it was exactly this certainty that played a dirty trick on him and, in combination with conservatism and liability to habits, led to his inability to think logically and assess the situation rationally. And also, as Cheeseman fairly pointed out, to tell his small world from the real one which began right beyond the Rangers HQ threshold and contains too much evil even for a hundred of Rescue Rangers teams to root out. Because it was, it is and it will always be since everywhere talent is accompanied by envy, friendship by hostility, and love by jealousy…

Jealousy. The feeling he was familiar with like nobody else.

_I should have suspected something at the very first moment when she changed the topi__c as soon as I spoke of Gadget__!__ Just like Tammy in due time…_

Chip gave a short grievous laugh. Tammy was an innocent kid unable and not wanting to hide her feelings and could be read like an open book. Unlike Mildred, mature female with years of loneliness behind her as well as load of life wisdom she got from her grandfather's tales…

---

"…_Second, you are my friend. And for me, the friends are beyond any suspicions…"_

---

And once again the most terrifying was that while saying this he was absolutely sincere. He really TRUSTED her like himself and considered it perfectly natural to discuss the progress of investigation and his versions with her, to question her about the Foundation, to ask her to drop his letters into the mail box and, _oh darn!_, was ready to ki…

_Wait a second…_

Chip looked at two envelopes and thought a bit, then reached for bedside table's top drawer when he heard someone running in the corridor. Then the door swung open and Stewart appeared. His eyes were bulging and red from the sleepless night, he was breathing heavily and waiving emphatically with long sheet of paper, most probably a results printout.

"Good news, Stewart?" Chip asked as calmly as he could.

"I…" the young mouse had to spend quite some time just to catch his breath after sprint across the entire hospital. "I don't really think so. Though there is good news, too."

"I'm listening."

Stewart looked around the room to find out that the only free seating place was Chip's wheelchair. Unlike Dale, he didn't consider it a good option and remained on his feet, which wasn't a loss at all given that he was too agitated to sit still. Even standing still was a problem and he started pacing around the room.

"First, good news!" he said stopping near the window and turning around. "The analyzer was able to construct a very detailed portrait of this drug. Despite being new, it's not. Not quite, that is… Okay, let's start from the, well, start. It's a non-benzodiazepine. These medicines are already softer and safer then the previous generations of sedatives. But this particular medicine is much, I'd say something like forty three times, safer than its analogues. Do you want to know why?"

He stopped looking at Chip. Rescue Ranger stared at him grimly but Stewart was too engrossed with his subject at the moment to notice this. Apparently, he didn't know what happened.

_Probably sat in the lab all night long and only now emerged to share his findings with me,_ Chip surmised and tried to smile, hoping it was encouraging enough not to make Stewart feel badly. After all, it wasn't his fault.

"Go on."

Stewart clicked his fingers and went back to the window.

"It's one heck of a drug I must say! It contains a whole bunch of additions previously unseen in non-benzodiazepines but widely used in the previous generation of sedatives to soften the effect of active components. Surely, these additions differ from those but analyzer found them close enough in the state space to consider them 'largely alike'. All these additions significantly influence the mechanism of nervous endings affection and increase the overdose threshold at the same lowering the addiction probability. Very, very interesting and promising substance… I don't speak too fast or too technical, do I?"

"No, Stewart, it's okay," Rescue Ranger assured him. "So what's the catch?"

Stewart stopped pacing. "Catch?"

"Bad news?"

"Oh," the lab mouse nodded and checked the printout, then spoke again. "I think we're on the wrong track."

Chip didn't like that a lot.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Remember you said it was strange choice for a murder weapon?"

"Yes."

"The analysis shows it's not only strange but a very bad choice for a murder weapon. In fact, you can't kill anyone with it."

"It's too weak?"

"Rather, too safe," Stewart corrected him.

"But it's a human drug," Chip objected. "Maybe it's safe for a human but not for mice…"

"Maybe, but considering that all new drugs are tested exactly on mice, I doubt that."

"But with mice it's easier to overdose it."

"Yes," Stewart nodded, "but taking into account Mister Harold's weight, it would take four to five human doses to kill him. That's more than twenty our syringes."

"Plenty," chipmunk admitted. "So what's your version?"

"First, the killer didn't want to kill him."

"That's unreasonable."

"I know. Second, we analyzed the drug from the wrong syringe which as far as I understand is unreasonable, too."

"Yes, it is. So?"

Stewart rubbed his nose. "At the moment I see only one way to explain it. It was used to cover the real poison from the analysis. Some organic poison which contains the same main elements as the medicine in question and thus undetectable by spectral analysis. In the same time it distorts the virtual image of the screening medicine which could have led us in the wrong direction in the first place."

"It becomes complex from here on," Chip observed. "Can we do anything to determine this for sure?"

"The only thing that could help us―" Stewart paused to give a yawn. "…is the clear sample of either the poison or the medicine. This way we can make the analyzer subtract the samples and determine the contents of the unknown compound more precisely."

"Any chances of doing it by emulation?"

Stewart shrugged. "I doubt that. The more I get acquainted with the analyzer the more confident I become that with it everything is possible, but I still doubt it. In any case, it will require additional programming and very long time. Doable but…"

"Don't worry, Stewart, I'm sure we'll get a sample of medicine soon. Now go home and have a rest. You did great job."

"Thanks, Mister Chip," the mouse handed him the printout. "Here is the full report with some comments of mine, though I wrote them in the morning and partially on my way here, so some portions can be unreadable…"

"It's okay," Chip shook his hand, but as soon as Stewart left he put the report aside. He knew enough about the drug for now. It was time to check another guess.

He opened the drawer and took out two previous letters from his friends. After rereading them he knew that memory served him. These letters were indeed _answers _to his, which meant that his previous messages which also passed through Mildred's hands reached Indonesia safe and sound and without traces of perusal his friends would have noticed and written him about…

_If they noticed them, that is. But the letters can be opened without visible traces. For instance, by using steam… Yes, that's it! She had a kettle in her room among other things!.._

That brings up another question. If she had everything needed for soft opening at hand, why two latest letters are torn open?

Or maybe it would be more correct to ask, why bother with steam if you can just tear the letter open?

_No, that's understandable. That's the only way to send letters along…_

But you can't do it after rude opening!

_No, you can! You just have to take a new envelope and write the same addresses on it…_

However, the detailed examination of the envelopes from Indonesia revealed that it was impossible to do. It wasn't due to Indonesian stamps on them (they can be re-stuck) or hotel postmark (it can be redrawn), but because both envelopes were signed by Gadget and her handwriting was impossible to fake. No, surely one could reproduce the shapes of individual letters but not her writing _manner_ which could be copied only by those who knew about its underlying principle ― the golden section.

In Gadget's case it meant that letters' width was to their height as the height to their sum. Same was true for words, lines and paragraphs. Someone else would inevitably fail to maintain at least one proportion but Gadget perfected this technique for full automatism and it never failed her. You could never be absolutely sure that the electric kettle she had repaired wouldn't fly but her handwriting remained the same even when she was writing with a human pencil on the side of the wooden crate sticker. That's why Chip knew it was her who had signed the envelopes.

_Okay, so what does it give us?_

Chip picked up the first letter from his friends to put it back into the envelope and only now noticed something previously overlooked. The bend lines were slightly distorted which happens when the paper is folded and unfolded several times by someone who doesn't really care about matching existing lines. Chip couldn't have done it. These letters were too precious for him to be so negligent.

SOMEONE READ HIS LETTERS HERE, IN THE WARD!!!

_But who?! When?!_

"_Mildred, who else?"_

_Yes, but __why would she read them here risking being caught if she could read them in her cabinet before giving to me?_

"_Maybe Nurse Cotton's presence didn't let her? Or some other reason? Maybe she just didn't have time?"_

_Then she'd have kept it and given me after reading…_

"_And how would she have explained such a delay?"_

_Would I have checked the date?_

After some thinking Chip had to admit he wouldn't have, not to mention the delays are fairly common things in aviation where they can be caused by anything from bad weather conditions to bomb threat…

_She could take it __at night while I was sleeping and later put back in the same way…_

Quite possible! After all, she had overslept her coming in on the very first day and later, when she brought his supper and took his third letter…

Yes, but entering quietly with a tray filled with plastic dishes which don't clatter is one thing. Pulling out the creaking drawers and shuffling through the papers right next to his ears is much noisier. _That_ would have awakened him even after a month of sleepless nights…

"_AWAKENED!"_

The chipmunk shook from the question resounding through his head. Once again his radar was sending him signals. But if during Millie's making clean breast of it his suspicions had a distinct reason, now these signals were confusing. After all, even at home after hearty supper he usually woke up because of quieter noises…

"_SUPPER!"_

Another signal, this time much louder and more telling.

_Oh yeah, last time I believed those signals they almost drove me insane…!_

"_SUPPER!"_

_What 'supper'! 'Supper' what?! Decent, if oversalted, supper! So what? It's not the point! The point is…_

"_MILLIE!"_

The third signal. The loudest and, as experience shows, the most important of them all. But what does it mean? What does it point at?

"_MILLIE! SUPPER! AWAKENED!"_

_Yes, Millie. Millie brought me supper. Supper was oversalted. And? What does it have to do with my awakening…?_

_NO!!!_

Stop, stop…

Can it be…?

Chip was so astonished he almost choked himself having forgotten about the necessity to breathe. On the second day he seriously considered the possibility that the oversaltness was linked with someone trying to kill him. He discarded this idea at that time as totally unreasonable…

But you can add not only poison to someone's food…

"Golden Bullet"!!!

The first of "The Memoirs of Sureluck Jones" telling the story of the jockey-trickster. A favorite on the upcoming Derby, he agreed to lose the race in exchange for huge bribe. And to make his loss look natural he decided to perform a delicate surgical operation on his horse's leg. But first he had to make the stableman sound asleep and he put powdered opium into his dish, masking the strong taste with garlic sauce…

_Another fit of detective-induced paranoia?_

But what if it wasn't? It explained everything! Strange oversaltness, sleepiness overcoming him soon after supper, deep sleep in which you fall down like into some pit trap…

_Maybe you just _want_ it to explain everything? Remember, you shouldn't apply detective stories directly to life…!_

But Mildred could have done exactly that!

---

"_I'm not a Sureluck Jones fan. I read a few stories about him, though. But my grandpa — he was really crazy about him"_

---

Most probably, those few stories she read were recommended by her grandpa, and "Golden Bullet" must have been among them! It's one of the best, after all!

Probable. Very probable. After all, she knew about Dr. Spivey's need for sleeping pills, probably she was even the one he asked to get them to him. She could safely ask for more then he wanted and then kept the extra quantity… No, then she could be exposed by the storeroom journal where the storekeepers write down everything, like Prudence did… Prudence! She safely let Mildred into the storage area where she could take whatever he wanted! Yes, that must be the way she did that…

But at the same it's too complicated. Why add the sleeping soporific draught into someone's food in order to read the letter already passing through your hands in the first place? Then again, on the night from 9th to 10th there were no letter and the supper was already oversalted and sleep-inducing. What for?

Surely it could be just another proof that all his schemes are products of his fevered imagination.

But then you can consider the broader aspect and ask yourself whether the letters were the point. After all, the aforementioned jockey put the horseman to sleep in order not to read his diary or something like that, but to keep him from hearing…

HAROLD…

BUCKSUP…

THE THIRD…

"No," Chip muttered. "No, it can't be…"

But everything was so frighteningly obvious…

That night while watching the mysterious nurseman he felt something was wrong and the events that followed proved he was right. But strange things began much earlier, when he was lying with closed eyes listening to the careful steps and wondering whether the old story was repeating itself, this time not with janitor but with the nurseman on duty observing his patients…

That's it! PATIENTS! The round means watching ALL patients! But the stranger went through the corridor without stopping anywhere but his ward! This meant that his only concern was Chip, or rather, his sleep which should have been deep after the supper seasoned with sleeping pills…

MILLIE IS AT ONE WITH THE KILLERS!

_No, that's impossible! Harold Bucksup is like grandfather to her! She was so worried about him, ran right to his ward on that night…_

SYRINGE!

That night he decided that the killer accidentally spilled syringe's contents on the wall. But everything could have been another way. Someone else could do it, someone who came to the ward right after he and the felon left…

Millie.

_No… No, but… But then everything…__ Everything was…_

---

"_May I go with you?"_

"_Erm, well, if you want to…"_

"_Are you serious?! Sure I do! I'll go anywhere with you!"_

---

…_to worm herself into my confidence and avoid suspicions in the future. To make me feel free to discuss everything with her, to tell her about all my ideas and plans, to let her take my letters…_

It was all clear now. Her accomplices read them while we were having a walk to make sure everything was alright and his friends weren't coming back. They also perused his letters to make sure he hadn't suspected anything and sent them further not to alarm the other Rangers…

_But why they didn't do it with the latest letters? __There was nothing dangerous for them… Or maybe, that was exactly what alerted them? They thought it was some kind of our secret signal? Or cipher?_

Cipher! Exactly!

_They read __the previous letter from Indonesia and stumbled upon Gadget's formulas which surely alarmed them. And when they saw formulas in my letter they considered my sudden love for mathematics a bad omen and decided not to forward the letter. That, in turn, prompted them to intercept the letter from my friends, too, because they wrote they hadn't received my previous letter and I could suspect a foul play. Once again, everything is fairly simple…_

Or not?

What about the motive? Why would Millie want to kill Harold Bucksup when the hospital he created means so much to her?

_Oh, come on, she c__ould have plenty of motives! Everything I know about her I heard from her! Maybe Harold Bucksup did something bad to her grandpa and she decided to avenge? Got a job here, waited for a suitable occasion…_

But Harold Bucksup himself insisted on her acceptance here! He wouldn't have solicited his enemy's granddaughter…

_Well, maybe he didn't know who she really was. Or maybe felt himself obliged to her and decided to atone his guilt this way. Then again, I know about Mister Harold's patronage from her alone…_

No! Not from her alone! Doctor Stone said the same today, and he wouldn't…

…OR WOULD HE?!

Rescue Ranger clasped his head feeling it started spinning around. _You got too carried away! _he tried to discipline himself. _You've got hallucinations! Paranoia! It's impossible! Whay would _Stone_ want to kill Mister Harold whose money makes this hospital running?!_

That was the answer.

Because of this.

---

"_Pacific Center?! But that's… There is…"_

"_Yes, Central City Hospital is just a country veterinary's hut compared to it! Doctor Xavier runs a small clinic in the Center, with just about ten rodent doctors working there__… It's simply fantastic and that hospital has potential to become the main rodent hospital in the country!"_

---

The new hospital in San-Angeles with vast space and access to the richest storage of medicine and equipment on the West Coast, with limitless resources which SCH will never had and which will easily outshine the brainchild of the old doctor who finally received the honors he deserved…

---

"…_I hope you didn't expect me to stay away when something bad is happening in my hospital?"_

"…_I won't tolerate anything like this in my hospital!!!"_

---

He indeed considered this hospital his own, and Mister Harold's project threatened if not to destroy her then to turn into a small appendage to the GREAT Central Hospital. But if he dies it can be easily avoided. The Bucksup Foundation wouldn't be created and the hospital in Pacific Center will remain just a small first-aid post of local significance.

_But Mouise can continue Harold's case, and then…_

BUT WHO SAID SHE'S GOING TO CONTINUE IT?!

Doctor Stone doesn't need San-Angeles Hospital. Just like Mouise Bucksup doesn't need the Foundation.

---

"_And Mister Harold should have become its head, yes?"_

"_No, the Council of Trustees chaired by his wife__…"_

---

Can the position of the Foundation Chairman, where all the decisions are made collectively, be compared to the status of sole heiress?

No, it can't.

The only heiress of the great fortune and the director of the only full-fledged rodent hospital on the West Coast. It's not very important who came up with the idea first. What's truly important is the fact that their union is mutually profitable and extremely effective…

_Okay, let's assume we've got the motive and Doctor Stone and Mouise Bucksup both have their reasons to murder Harold Bucksup. But why risk so much when he's already dying…?_

But who said he's already dying?! What if his present condition isn't the result of natural causes?!

---

"…_On that meeting Mr. Harold was an embodiment of health and energy, and then, five days later, they brought him here. He was very weak but kept saying that there was nothing to worry about, that it just a slight malady which would pass shortly and his wife raised a false alarm. Analysis showed nothing special but his state wasn't improving. Doctor Stone suspected the worst and transferred him to intensive care ward. He's there since then…"_

---

So simple…

It could have been just some slight malady caused by overworking. Or maybe Mouise did it somehow, since she had a whole week after the meeting. Be it as it may, her husband got health issues and he turned to the leading doctor of the SCH. And Doctor Stone announced that it's very serious and Mister Harold needed a full stationary treatment course, knowing better than anyone else that the old patron wouldn't leave the hospital alive…

---

"_Non-benzodiazepines__ is a class of psychotropic drugs which includes anticonvulsants, sedatives, soporifics, painkillers, anesthetics and the like…"_

---

Chip took the printout of the latest analysis and read it carefully just to make sure he'd understood Stewart's words correctly.

'…The additions listed above make this medicine the safest of all currently existing sedatives. The chance of accidental overdose is infinitely small and even after one-time injection of two full syringes (ten dozes) there won't be any irreversible changes in the organism…'

_No, Stewart, we aren't on the wrong track, _Chip mentally objected the lab mouse. _You are right about one-time injection. But it wasn't one-time. Mr. Bucksup has been given it all this time…_

How could he have overlooked it?! All the symptoms are present! Unconsciousness, low breathing and heart rate, deferred or absent muscular response. In short, direct opposite to what the CNS stimulator would have made…

_Wait a second?_

But if that's the case, why Mildred administered him the stimulator? It contradicts their plans!

Or maybe not?

What was Doctor Spivey saying about it? That it's usage can lead to unforeseen consequences…

_But that's exactly what the criminals need!_

That's why the nurseman destroyed all the supplies of the new medicine! They don't need it anymore! Harold Bucksup's organism is already weak enough that, as the questioning showed, the slightest shock was enough to make him lose consciousness! But even the slightest overload can lead to peripheral shock, it's hard to imagine what several doses of drastic stimulator can do…

_Interesting variant to be sure, but why so difficult? There are much quicker means to kill an old mouse…_

_Yes, there are. __But all of them suggest a foul play. What can be more suspicious then the sudden death of healthy, energetic and very rich mouse? There will be rumors, idle talks, suspicions, even Barbara Swissand can decide to initiate her own investigation which can be dangerous given the resources her family possesses. And what can shut all the mouths better then the official diagnosis approved by the prominent specialist of rodent medicine? Nothing!_

Now Nurse Munkched's role was absolutely clear. She was not only a decoy but also a source of "correct" information. Her weepy tale of Harold and Mouise was needed to depict the actress in so favorable light that she would be beyond suspicions. And it almost worked. Mildred played her part perfectly. Muddled his brain and senses, destroyed the drug the killer left, administered the stimulator…

_Why Stone threw her out then? Why did he make a tragedy out of the stimulator?!_

_But he made the tragedy not out of the stimulator but out of my letters found in her desk! If I hadn't been there nobody would have noticed them! He didn't expect me there and had to improvise!_

_But if Mildred had told Garding she was sent by Stone and not by Spivey there would__ have been no scandal at all! Stone would have confirmed her word and there would be no search…_

Maybe Stone wanted to blame it on Spivey?

No, it's too dangerous. Spivey is too well-known and popular to do it. Unlike Mildred. That's why he blamed it on her…

_But why didn't she say anything then?! Having nothing to lose, it was a perfect opportunity to tell everything she knew hoping for forgiveness…_

If it wasn't a part of a plan, too, that is.

But what for?

_Because of me!_

Chip clutched his head even stronger. He himself told Doctor Stone everything, told him about his conversation with Millie about the Foundation. Probably Stone found that Millie had told Chip too much. He was aware of their relations and decided that one day Millie could confess everything to Chip. So he decided to take her out of the game and asked to play a role of 'immoral rodent banished from the hospital', probably in exchange for money or maybe position in some other rodent hospital run by some old acquaintance of his…

_Which means, that everything was a FEINT!_

But what if it wasn't the only feint? What if…?

_OHMIGOSH!_

"Murder on the Occident Express"…

That would explain why the interrogation of those who didn't get a job here resulted in nothing, why nobody found anything at the storage and why the hospital workers confirmed each others alibi…

THEY ARE ALL IN IT!

"_All?! Every single one?! The whole hospital?! Non-sense…"_

_Well, maybe not every one but many of them! Those whom Doctor Stone persuaded that when the San-Angeles hospital opened they would hit the streets again…_

Now it was clear why Mildred with her affection towards the medicine, the SCH and her home agreed to co-operate.

But if she agreed, others could, too. How to tell who did it? Or better, who didn't? Who can he turn for help without fear that the willingness to assist wouldn't be just a mask?

"_Stewart!"_

_Yes, most probably he wasn't involved. __Sure, his detailed commentary about impossibility to use the drug as a murder weapon can be viewed as an attempt to deceive me, but his enthusiasm to help was too genuine to be a fake…_

"_Just like Mildred's, no?"_

_Yes, another mistake of this kind will be fatal! They haven't killed me yet because they know my friends won't leave it like that. But if they decide that I know too much they'll get rid of me and my assistants… Then again, what a young and naïve lab mouse can do? Very little, and since he's probably at home sleeping__, even less than that. No, I need to talk to someone whose position is important enough to make difference…_

Chip heard familiar voices in the corridor. Two were speaking, and soon he saw Perry Nutson passing his ward by accompanied by Doctor Spivey.

Several seconds later Chip knew what to do.

He rose abruptly sending the papers surrounding him flying across the room. "If only he didn't leave, if only he didn't leave…" he spoke to himself while taking a pen and a blank paper from the drawer. When he drove into the corridor he saw the doctor and the attorney entering Bucksup's ward. Perfect. Chip drove there while quickly writing the note. He had to write with his left hand and look up regularly to not hit anyone. The resulting handwriting would have terrified even the blindest of moles but it was even better for his plan.

Concealing the note in his paw Chip stopped the wheelchair in front of the IC ward's door and waited. His plan was based on one observation telling that all the doors opened inside and three suppositions: that Spivey and Nutson won't sit there for too long, that doctor is polite rodent and that…

The approaching steps were heard from the inside and the door began to open. Chip went forward and ran right into Nutson who was coming out first. The stunned attorney almost fell down on the chipmunk but Rescue Ranger put his hands in front of him and caught him.

"What's going…! Oh, it's you, Mister Chip! Just like I thought!" the squirrel said angrily setting his suit right.

"Mister Nutson, excuse me," Chip mumbled playing total embarrassment. "I just, I wanted―"

"Came to see what you and your tongue has done to Mister Harold, did you?" Nutson asked sarcastically.

"No, I… Look, Mister Nutsom, I'm awfully sorry, but―"

"Just listen, Doctor!" Perry turned to Spivey standing right behind him. "He's awfully sorry!"

Spivey raised his hand in calming gesture. "Please, Mister Nutson, calm down. I'm sure Mister Chip didn't want…"

"He didn't want! I wonder what he _did_ want!" Nutson looked back at Chip. "So what did you want?"

"I wanted to ask if you could spare me an hour or two…" Chip asked for such an amount of time for his request to sound as outrageous as possible. He succeeded.

"What?!" Nutson's brows raised to the upper edge of his forehead. "Do you know how much one hour of my time cost?"

"No, I―"

"I see that you don't! If you knew you wouldn't ask such stupid questions! Now be so kind and move back, I'm in a hurry!"

"But maybe…" Chip mumbled driving back. Nutson stepped forward but Ranger suddenly stopped and Nutson almost fell on him again.

"What a heck are you doing?!" the squirrel cried.

"Sorry, I'm sorry, I'm very sorry!" Chip showered apologies while helping Mister Nutson to smooth the creases on his jacket. He did it so zealously the attorney had to fight him off.

"Are you mad or what?! Leave me alone!"

"Please, Mister Nutson, I have no idea how it happened! Must be the engine failure, or maybe there's something wrong with brakes…"

"Or driver! You know, Mister Chip, I thought much higher of you! Good bye! And try not to hit something on your way!"

"Bye, Mister Nutson," Chip mumbled following the attorney going towards the elevator with his eyes. When the squirrel reached the turn, Chip shouted:

"Good luck! Watch your step!"

The attorney stopped for a second, gave Chip his heaviest stare and disappeared from view.

"Looks like today is not your day, Chip," Spivey observed.

"Looks that way, Kurt," Chip nodded showing total depression. "One failure after another. I think I need some rest…"

"That's good idea!" the doctor agreed. He started to leave but Chip grabbed the hem of his gown.

"Wait, Kurt! Could you please examine my leg? It's itching."

The hamster stopped. "Itching? Or hurting? Come with me, we need to have you X-Rayed…"

"No-no, Kurt, I'm sure that's not that serious, but could you look at it? I know you are busy…"

Spivey waved his concerns off. "Please, Chip, don't! It's good that you told me! The fractures are very dangerous thing, especially those like yours and you shouldn't neglect anything!"

With that Spivey drove Chip to his ward. Chipmunk took a deep breath. His plan worked and all the suppositions it was based on proved to be correct. Nutson and Spivey didn't stay in the ward for too long. The hamster was indeed a polite rodent and let older squirrel go out first allowing Chip to make a small "accident". Finally, just like Chip expected, Nutson grew angry, refused to talk and quickly went away. Time to move to the next stage.

"Lay down, Chip!" Spivey ordered helping chipmunk out of the wheelchair and onto the bed. He sat down and started carefully probing the broken limb.

"Hurts? Itches? Any feelings?"

"No, doctor, everything's fine!"

"No more itching? That's not very good sign…"

"It didn't itch at all, Kurt. But please, keep examining it as though I said nothing, and listen to me very carefully…"

Chip started his story trying to speak the language of facts, short and substantial. The more he said, the more terrified the doctor grew. The paleness showed even through thick fur and movements of his fingers became rigid and mindless.

"Chip…" he said in an undertone when Rescue Ranger stopped to catch his breath. "It's incredible! Harvey and Mrs. Bucksup, gosh… It's impossible! Are you sure?"

"I understand your feelings perfectly, Kurt. I can't believe it myself. Trust me, never before have I wanted more to turn out wrong."

"But maybe you are? Remember Cheeseman! You were absolutely sure then, too…"

"That's why I called you, Kurt. We need proof. Not surmising but facts and evidence. I'm not sure about Doctor Stone, too, call it educated pessimism since it can't go worse then that. But as for Mrs. Mouise I have less and less doubts with each passing minute."

"What about me?"

"Come again?"

The hamster rubbed his stiffened neck. "Well, you so vividly described the motives and scale of the hospital-wide conspiracy that I can't but wonder why you trust me."

"Because I believe you, Kurt. First, you eagerly helped me with everything and were sorry to hear about my failures. Second, you actively opposed the use of stimulators to be one of the criminals and also helped to catch Millie― Nurse Munkched. Third, you said you were dreaming about working in San-Angeles and your appointment as the project curator is another proof of that."

The hamster visibly calmed down and even grew larger. His voice showed total readiness for the action. "You're right, Chip, I've always dreamt of working with their base. It's far richer than in that Nevada clinic I started at and I'll do everything to make it available for our health care! What do I need to do?"

"First found the workers you completely trust. Two or three, no more. Exclude those who participated in storage room searching. I'd advise you to look at those who recently got a job here since the plotters wouldn't really trust the animals they know not well enough. But you never can know for sure so be very careful and selective. You can't trust anyone!"

"Yes, sure…" the SCH deputy head brushed the large drops of sweat from his whiskers. "It's frightening…"

"Yes, it is. Even monstrous I'd say. That's why we need to act now. We lost too much time because of this Mildred Munkched affair… Besides, how her injection affected Mister Harold's health?"

"Not much, I must say. But she administered only quarter a minim of rodentized cordiamizol so it's not too strange."

"That means they'll repeat the procedure soon," Chip concluded. "Here's what you'll do. First, make sure that nobody but you can enter the ward, even Doctor Stone. You are an attending doctor, make up something plausible. Announce that only you can determine what to give him. Place one of your trusted rodents there and tell him to stop any attempts to make Mister Bucksup an injection which isn't sanctioned by you personally. But don't sanction anything. Then if somebody will claim to have received your approval for an injection we'll know he's one of the criminals."

"Clever," Spivey admitted. "I'll do it. But what if they understand it's a trap? We can't lie in ward forever…"

"We won't have to lie there forever, only until midnight."

"And what will happen at midnight?"

"I'll explain, but first check if there's anyone nearby."

"Okay…" Spivey got up and peeked in to the corridor. There was nobody suspicious nearby so he closed the door tightly and returned to the bed.

"No one. So what will be at midnight?"

"Mouise's confession and, if we're lucky, names of all or at least some of her accomplices."

Spivey shook involuntarily. "Really? May I ask how you plan to make it?"

"I sent her a note asking to come to the SCH main gates at 11 PM today. I wrote it directly concerned her husband and she must try to avoid being seen."

"Note? How? By mail? It can be intercepted!"

"No, Kurt, I send it along with Nutson. Placed it into his pocket while we were pushing each other on the threshold."

"So that was deliberate?" Spivey almost choked because of the emotions. "That was the goal of that conflict?"

"Yes."

"I see… But why do you think she'll be there?"

"First, I wrote that it's a matter of life and death. Second, I signed a note by your name."

"My name?" the hamster froze. "But…"

"Don't worry, Kurt, I thought everything over. First, you too had an opportunity to drop a note into Nutson's pocket during our little fighting so it won't look too suspicious. Second, even if she suspects something she can't allow herself not to come. Third, you won't have to go there because I will."

"You? But you've got a leg!"

"Don't worry, I've got a plan, too."

"I'm glad to hear that but this is dangerous! She can come not alone but with assistants…"

"Actually, I _hope_ she won't come alone."

"I don't understand…"

"I don't think there will be plenty of them. If I were her, I'd take three to four thugs along. Doable, but I'll need cover. I remember you said you could vouch your reputation for Mitchell…"

They spent another half an hour discussing the plan. Then Spivey said he had to go or else his absence would be noticed.

"As I have said already, you are true professional, Chip!" he said in the end. "But your plan is still too risky. Too many suppositions and fairly long shots for my taste."

"True," Chip had to agree. "But we have to do it. For Harold Bucksup and all those he helped and, I'm sure, will help."

Spivey nodded and left. Chip stretched and crackled his knuckles. The investigation entered its most dangerous phase which required a really thorough preparation.

*** 3 ***

There were little to no visitors in the Rehabilitation Section after 10 PM, but Chip tried to take all possible precautions. During the day he rolled up his jacket and hid it under his bed. When Nurse Cottons took away the tray with supper and turned off the lights, he put the jacket under the blanket with only a fur sticking from under the blanket and sat into the wheelchair. He greased its axles with butter from his bread to make it move noiselessly and drove into the farthest from the window and the darkest corner of the room.

There he made all the preparations. First he unscrewed the bolts securing the chair's engine with the table knife he hid. Then took three Sureluck Jones books from the chair he moved into this corner back in the evening and put them onto the seat. After that he put on his jacket which had played its decoy role faithfully and sat into the wheelchair and covered himself with plaid from neck to toes. Such a primitive disguise couldn't cover drastic changes in his height but now it was even handy and absolutely justified all the inconveniences of sitting on the hard covers with relief letterings.

The orderly seen through the Bucksup's ward window was sitting with his head supported by his hand, dozing. Chip didn't like that but decided that must be not the Spivey's rodent who'd most probably be sitting near the very bed. If Spivey trusted him, he also should. The orderly guarding the elevator and fire exit was another matter but Chip had a plan.

Quietly driving to the corner he peeked around it and shook his head. This orderly was sleeping, too. Vigilant guard, what's more to add? Children playground missing only cork-shooting rifles for the picture to be complete.

"WILLIS!" Chip shouted upon driving up to him. Awakened orderly sprang up and stood at attention, his eyes bulging, expecting to see either Stone himself or his deputy. When he realized he was caught by Chip and not his superiors, he eased somewhat but Chip quickly disillusioned him.

"Why are you sleeping on post?!" he asked dryly and frowned maliciously.

"I… Well… My shift… It wasn't for long… Not very deep…" orderly started to mumble his excuses. He visibly shrank under Chip's cold stare and the fact that the chipmunk seemed taller owing to the books which greatly increased the effectiveness of psychological influence.

"Not very deep, you say?" Chip asked with ostentatious sarcasm. "Why did you slip through my coming then?"

The orderly scratched his head. "Uhm, I guess that was 'cause you came quietly…"

"And do you think the criminal will blow a trumpet announcing his arrival? I'm very disappointed with you, Willis! I thought you are more responsible than your colleague from the ward! Don't you understand that your post is one of the most important?!"

"No… Yes! I mean, I do…"

"So what do you think I should do with you?" Rescue Ranger asked fetching the pen out of his pocket. Orderly started shaking, clearly imagining all possible and impossible punishments imposed on him by Chip's report.

"I… Me… Well, maybe… This won't happen…"

"Won't happen, you say? How many times have you been on duty?"

"Third! It's my third!"

"And previous times…"

"No-no! Hadn't closed my eyes for a second till the changing came, I swear!"

Chip hemmed and twisted his pen, then showed his paw into the jacket's pocket. Willis' fur grew drenched with sweat. But Chip took out not a notepad but handkerchief and orderly sighed in relief.

"Well, Willis," Ranger said erasing a non-existing spot off his lapel, "I'll forgive you for the first time. But you are very lucky, remember that! If it was Stone who found you…"

He paused significantly allowing Willis to imagine all the troubles for himself. The orderly gulped since the reaction of Stone, earlier that day giving a scandalous sack to the nurse who had worked here from the very beginning, was easy to predict.

"Thanks, Mister Chip! It's… It's…"

"Hope it's not a mistake on my part!" Ranger broke him off. "Okay, Willis, I see you are a good worker albeit not without faults. You can go have a snack if you want."

"Yes, I do, thank you…! Wait, but how about the post?"

"Don't worry!" Chip motioned the orderly to lean closer to him and added in a low voice. "Between you and me only, I don't think anyone will try to infiltrate the hospital. It's a simple precaution. But I didn't say anything to you, got that?"

"Got it, Mister Chip!" the orderly smiled widely, flattered with such trust.

"Go eat something and have some rest. And scare off your colleague in the ward. A guard post is still a guard post."

"Certainly, sir!" Willis assured him and went down the corridor almost jumping with excitement to have been forgiven and trusted a military secret. Chip smiled ironically at the tricks he had to use to pass the posts he installed himself. At least he wouldn't need any tricks to get out on the street since after his conversation with Stone the guard post at the other end of emergency corridor was removed. Chip also noted that open slackness of the sentries could be caused not only by lack of discipline but also by exact knowledge that nobody was going to come here to kill Harold Bucksup since all the killers were already here…

_Okay, stop wasting time!_

Making sure that the corridor was empty, Chip called the elevator. When the hospital was created it was a simple platform matching the size of ventilation shaft which moved between the hospital's two floors. But later Gadget improved it significantly and turned it into full-fledged cargo platform which reached the roof and made the delivery of equipment brought by Ranger Wing much easier. Unfortunately for Chip, the elevator resembled human ones very closely, up to the sliding doors and contacts located under the cabin floor which closed up only when enough pressure was applied thus not allowing empty elevator to move. Fortunately for him, the automatic control system didn't allow to call the elevator if the cabin doors were open. In other words, Chip's plan could work, but not without some luck.

Chip got up from the wheelchair, tied the books with coarse thread which came along with them and removed the engine. When the elevator doors opened, he placed the books inside and rested the engine against them so that the major share of its mass fell not on the books but on the crutch he was holding. Then Chip pressed the top floor button with another crutch and kept holding the engine till the doors closed. The humming that followed indicated that the weight of engine and books was enough to trick the system. Everything else will be done by gravity alone which, when the cabin doors open, will make the engine fall down and block them, severely impeding the chase. To tell the truth, Chip doubted there would be any but didn't want to leave any possibility unaccounted for.

Making sure the elevator reached the roof and remains 'occupied', Chip drove out through the fire exit. In engine's absence he had to push the wheels manually and use crutches on the slopes, and soon Chip began to seriously doubt the need for that engine trick. Then again, he needed the engine off the wheelchair so in any case it wasn't the waste but the rational usage of the resources at hand. He could remove the lamp from under the elevator call button to foul the trail further, but didn't make it for a reason. Let his enemies think he went to the roof, for instance, to conduct investigative action to determine the alternative ways for the criminals to get into the hospital, or something like that, whatever. In short, anything but going to the SCH main gate to help Doctor Spivey, not to mention substituting him.

The street met him with winter cold and piercing wind. _Forty degrees is no joke!_ Chipmunk mused upping his collar and wrapping into plaid tighter. There was a special walkway from the emergency exit to the gates but Chip decided to go slightly around avoiding hitting the circles of light from the lampposts. Half-way to the outer wall, he glanced back on the roof but didn't saw any movement. Maybe it was too far, maybe it just wasn't there. Then again, if he thought it out right he won't be missed for at least half an hour. That's more then enough.

After some time Chip left very handy but at the same time too well observed pathway and drove across the soil still wet after recent raining. Reaching the wall he put the faithful crutch on his knees and moved cautiously alongside it, listening attentively to each and every sound. The SCH gates faced the backstreet which encircled the Central City Hospital compound. Here, far enough from the crowded Portero-avenue, it was quiet enough to hear even the faintest sound. But Chip couldn't hear anything suspicious. Good. Or maybe not good and his enemies were more skillful than he thought.

A silhouette of a tall and broad shouldered rodent appeared from under the dense bush near the wall. Chip stuck his crutch out but then recognized the stranger and drove up to him.

"Good evening, Mitchell!" he saluted the nurseman. "Is everything ready?"

"Everything like you ordered, Mister Chip!" male mouse stepped aside and nodded at the gurney by the wall with large rectangular object covered with plaid to protect it from the moisture of the night. Digital voice recorder from the ventilation shaft above the storage room, brought down from its ordinary place for the most important recording session in its electronic life.

"Is the device alright? You checked it?"

"Everything's set!" Mitchell answered picking up the mini-microphone with clothing clip. Chip rose a bit and Mitchell placed the mike under the seat, where the engine previously was, securing it to the seat by the clip. He then proceeded to plug it into the recorder with a loud crunch.

"Is everything alright?" Chip asked again, deeming the sound unnatural.

"Yes, yes!"

"Good. Heard anything strange?"

"Quiet as in the morgue. I didn't approach the gates, though."

"Right, Mitchell. When the recording starts, come closer carefully and watch. If she's alone I'll handle it myself, if she's not, go away. The recording must be protected by all means."

"Okay, okay, I remember!"

"Good. Where's the crutch?"

"Here!"

"Thanks!" Chip replaced the crutch in holder with another, augmented with the head of the human syringe needle, a rapier by rodent standards. However many thugs the villainous actress will bring, they won't take him cheaply.

When Chip reached the embrasure in the wall which served the SCH main gates, the digital clock above the 2nd Building's entrance showed 10:59 PM. Making sure there are no suspicious sounds, Rescue Ranger carefully peeked from around the corner…

And froze upon seeing unknown dark-grey female mouse who stood in shadows cast by a pile of bricks near the entrance. Her face was half-covered by big glasses with thick lenses cut from the pieces of bottle, but it was obvious from the first sight that she's cold and nervous. But who was this?

Chip's brain quickly rummaged through possible variants which included, but weren't limited to, this mouse being here accidentally and scaring off Mouise ("it's a catastrophe"), was sent by Mouise as a bait ("it's a trap"), was sent by Mouise as a contact person, following Chip's advice to make sure nobody sees her ("that's not good").

He waited but mouse didn't leave. She stared in the surrounding darkness, screwing up her eyes weak-sightedly, obviously waiting for someone. But nobody came to pick her up, which meant she was indeed waiting for Ranger. Chip didn't know what to do. Come out? There was little sense in it now since even if it's a trap, it wouldn't give him any hard evidence against the actress (she could always say she didn't get his note or even stage attack on her on the way here which would be later used as alibi). He could wait till she leaves and try to follow her, but wheelchair was the most inconvenient mount for tailing somebody…

TAIL!

The old mouse's tale wasn't dark like those of other dark-grey mice, but almost pink, like Gadget's and…

MOUISE'S OWN!

"Mrs. Bucksup!" Chip called. He wasn't shouting loudly, but his voice, magnified by narrow tunnel, sounded against surrounding silence like chimes of the Town Hall clock. No wonder that Mouise almost had a stroke.

"Mister Chip?! Is it you?!"

"Yes, it's me," Chip drove closer to her and stopped in the tunnel, on the very border of shadow and light to cover the mike wire creeping behind his wheelchair.

"Gosh, Mister Chip, you scared me…! But where's Doctor Spivey?"

"I'm instead of him, Mrs. Bucksup."

"Really? But… Something happened, yes? Something with Harold?"

Now Chip was impressed. _She's really talented! Plays so naturally it's breathtaking! Desiree is amateur comparing to her! If I didn't knew everything about her, I'd think she's sincere…_

"And I thought you wouldn't come!" He said, ignoring her question for now. "You are genius! Wrinkles, posture, gait ― everything of a real old lady! If not for your tail, I'd never recognize you!"

"Thanks, Mister Chip! Doctor Spivey asked me to avoid being seen, so I thought make-up would do the job. And the tail…" she looked at her tail and shook her head. "Yes, it's constant problem! I always forget about him!"

"Today it was a welcome failure," chipmunk smiled but instantly grew serious. "Okay, Mrs. Bucksup, we've got little time. How much did you promise Doctor Stone in exchange for your husband's death?"

Mouise's smiling face turned into a wax mask.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Okay, I'll rephrase the question. You came to an arrangement with Stone after your husband was put into the hospital or before that? How about right after the meeting where he announced his plans to create the Foundation and the new hospital? Or maybe, during it?"

"Mister Chip, I― I don't understand what you are talking about…"

"You understand everything!" Rescue Ranger roared as he clenched the crutch tighter and quickly glanced around, ready to repel an attack of actress' goons. But there were none, they seemed to be alone and Chip didn't like that very much. Either she was stupid or conceited enough to come to the meeting alone, or she had nobody to bring along…

"Please, Mister Chip," mouse's face assumed a martyr's air. "I don't know who told you all these horrible things, but I love Harold and would never do anything bad to him! Believe me, please!"

_Can I be mistaken?_ Chip asked himself. He glanced around again, but there was nobody sneaking up to him, no moving shadows, no steps or voices in the dark… Could he have walked the easiest path again and blamed the innocent for the second time in a row?

_Maybe she's indeed innocent? Maybe, she indeed talked her husband into visiting hospital because she was worried about him? And Stone saw a perfect opportunity to get rid of Harold so that later he'd convince his mourning widow to postpone the opening of the new hospital and direct all the resources to the development of the existing one, because it's cheaper and safer…_

"Mrs. Bucksup, your make-up is flowing," he observed in much more warm tone then before.

"Really?" The actress felt the change and recovered her spirits somewhat. "Thank you!" She began to search her pockets in search of handkerchief but without any result, like always…

_Ohmigosh__…_

Such a simple thing as handkerchief, which you can forget or can always carry with you, like Mildred did. She always had a one with her. She used it to brush off her tears during their first walk, to cover his wound in the ward and to cry her eyes out into in her cabinet after the search. But didn't use it after making an injection and even had to ask orderlies for a one…

"And I thought you kept mole's handkerchief," Chip said.

"No, I… Uhm, what did you say?" Mouise asked again, but it was too late. She was caught off-guard, if even for a second. But for Chip, it was more than enough.

_Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy…_

Her figure, fur and silky hair, which didn't move him a bit when he was watching her leaving Harold's ward that night. He congratulated himself for another victory over the instincts, another triumph of self-control then, but his force of will had nothing to do with it. His instincts just didn't awake. Because no matter how many make-up you cover yourself with, you won't deceive the primal feeling which will tell who's that female in front of you, a chipmunk or a mouse. Even if this particular mouse won Mousecar for Best Costuming and was chosen to perform the leading role in blockbuster "Of Munks and Malice"…

"It was you!" he shouted. "Not Millie but you! You took the stimulator at the medicines storage! You administered it! You took my letter from the receptionist and put it into Millie's desk to frame her! You! It was you!!!"

"Mister Chip! What are you talking about?! Are you insane?!" the actress grabbed his hand, and her long false nails left deep scratches on his skin making Chip wince with pain. He shook her hand off and tried to hit her with the crutch but his hand trembled and the improvised weapon fell to the ground. He reached for the combat one, but his hand just dangled helplessly in the air. Then his wheelchair seemed to start rolling, the pile of bricks flew away and the tunnel's wall moved onto its ceiling somehow and Chip finally understood the real reason for Harold Bucksup's sudden unconsciousness…

"Pity, Mister Chip," the actress' voice came from somewhere, drawled and slow, as if played with reduced speed. "Well, it's your own fault. You are indeed a good detective. Unfortunately, too good."

"My death won't help you, Mrs. Bucksup…" Chip managed to utter. Gathering his rapidly vanishing strength, he raised his head and looked into her face, very calm and blank, empty and soulless, the real face of Mouise Stretcher. "You're busted… Soon everyone would know about you and Doctor Stone… It's over…"

"For you, it is," Mouise answered and said, looking into the tunnel.

"He's all yours, Mitchell!"

Already plunging into darkness, Chip looked there, saw the dark-blue spot of nurseman's uniform jacket and understood everything. Now he knew who that night nurseman was, why Mouise came here alone and why microphone's plugging in produced a sound so closely resembling the crunching of the foam plastic.

*** 4 ***

Chip's return from nothingness consisted of several distinctly discernible stages. First there was darkness, not unconscious but perceptible, like when you are lying with closed eyes in a dark room. Then darkness was joined by silence, not when you don't hear anything but when there's nothing to hear. Next came the feeling of discomfort which is familiar to those who ever laid on flat and hard surface without a chance to shift pose. The realization quickly followed that inability to move was caused not by limbs refusing to cooperate but by two broad belts tightened across Chip's chest and hips. As the final stage of coming back to his senses, two questions appeared in his head: "Where am I?" and "How long have I been unconscious?"

Rescue Ranger looked around, barely moving his neck, stiff after the tranquilizer injection and long lying. The dropper holder near his head and small barriers to the sides suggested him lying on the gurney, probably the same that previously held the fake voice recorder. The further investigation showed that the gurney was standing near the wall in a spacious hall sporting one obviously locked door, several trestles and stepladders, a few piles of building garbage and strong scent of paint. It looked like some old storage house but Chip remembered Millie's words about upper floor construction and deduced that he's in the future hospital library. But if it's so, he could try to…

"HELP!!! ANYONE HERE?! HELP!!!" he shouted at all his lungs might. As one would expect, nobody came. That is, nobody at all, including the criminals. Left him unguarded, come to think of it… Then again, where would he go from here, tied, locked and with a broken leg? Which is another proof of him being in the SCH unfinished wing. First, they don't need to travel far to check how he was. Second, shouting was useless because the workers were dismissed for Christmas and there would be no trespassers till the next year. Fascinating…

While the first question could be considered answered, the second was shrouded in mystery. Chip lost track of time and he could say only one thing for sure ― it was night. On the one hand it instilled hope that he hadn't been unconscious for too long. At the same time the darkness behind the narrow window under the ceiling could equally mean he had been her for at least a day, or even more…

_No, doesn't feel __that way…_ chipmunk thought. He moved his fingers and winced with pain. The scratches on his hand still hurt, which meant it was still December, 19.

_Suppose, it is. Now what?_

The belts didn't allow Chip to box himself in the forehead so he started to hit the back of his head against the gurney, cursing his own blindness and limitless stupidity. To trust the nurseman who was one of the most suitable candidates for the night stranger's role and (surprise!) was him, indeed! What he told Kurt then? "_The real killer would have come up with much better alibi…"_ In books and movies ― yes, but in real life… Everything pointed at him! Appearance, profession, criminal background, absence of alibi… In short, everything! And the fact that Spivey vouched his reputation for him, doesn't justifies his own mistake…

_Kurt…_

What did they do to him? Is he lying in the adjacent room, tied up and gagged? Or is long feeding cats in some dark alley? Second seemed more plausible. Chip bid him farewell at half past three and hadn't seen him since, so Mitchell and the gang had plenty of time to get rid of him. The evil nurseman could have asked him to help with the voice recorder and Spivey followed him to the Building no. 2 with its tangled ventilation full of deep shafts… Then Mitchell found a piece of foam plastic, indistinguishable from the real device under the plaid. Chip did the rest, willingly leaving the safety of the hospital to come to deserted place. Got himself nailed and failed his friends…

_Millie…_

"FORGIVE ME, MILLIE!!!" he shouted several times but it didn't become easier. He did it, the worst mistake a detective can do ― accuse the innocent. He had reasons for it, since she was really neatly framed. But it was his guilt and nobody else's, for he believed the 'evidence' so easily, blinded by rage at someone who allegedly stole his letters and not listening to his sense of reason and logic he was so proud of, allowing to stamp out the honor and dignity of his only close friend in all hospital…

"Forgive me, Millie…" he whispered. He didn't know how much time he's got but knew it's running out so he was in a hurry to say everything he must have. "For give me for not believing you when you begged me to. Forgive me for not being there for you when you needed it the most. Forgive me for questioning your sincerity. I can't be forgiven, I know, but… but I ask you to…"

The door slammed in the distance and soon chipmunk heard the shuffling of a construction film covering the floor. That's all. They came after him.

"Forgive me. For everything," leader of Rescue Rangers repeated and tried his best to wipe his tears against the mattress. He would never let them see him crying. They can do anything they want with him, he deserved all of it. But they won't see his tears!

The shuffling is louder, the steps are closer. The ringing of keys can be heard now. Step, then another one. He's close. He's alone. Is it a jailer or an executioner? He'll find out soon. The stranger stopped and inserted his key…

But for some reason, into another door which led into adjacent room. Now the sound was coming through the wall Chip was lying at. The hearing was fantastic owing to grate behind which was ventilation shaft running down to the underground floor. Apparently, the same grate was on the other side because the moment the steps came abreast the point where chipmunk was lying he discerned not only them but also muffled muttering. And when he heard the rustling of papers collected into the dustpan there was no space for doubts anymore.

"WASHY!" Chip called.

The rustling ended with a knock. Apparently, the frightened janitor dropped his broom.

"Wh-wh-o-o's th-th-ere?"

"Washy! It's me! Chip!"

Silence.

"Washy, you hear me?! Answer, please!"

"Ch-ch-ch…"

"Speak louder, I can't hear you!!!"

"Ch-ch-chip?! It w-was you with N-N-Nurse M-M-Mildred, y-y-es?"

"Yes, Washy, it's me, Nurse Mildred's friend! Recognize me?"

Silence again. _Darn, what's going on there…?!_

"Washy, are you there?! Speak louder!"

"Y-yes, I'm h-here!"

"Washy, listen, I need your help! Do you hear me?! HELP!"

"H-help, h-help, h-help…"

_Yeah, he's definitely not the guy to send to get some acorns…_

"Yes, Washy, help! Will you help me?"

Long pause. _Is he mocking me or what?!_

"_MAYBE THAT'S WHAT HE'S DOING?! MAYBE HE'S ONE OF THEM?!"_

_Oh, great, here we go! Even consider mentally ill janitor one of the conspirators…_

"_WHAT IF IT'S PRETENCE, TOO?!"_

_No…_ Chip decided, remembering his facial expression and absolutely unique glance Washy had while looking at Millie and him in the garage. _No, it can't be. You can't play that…_

"_What it you are mistaken again, like with Millie-Mouise?"_

_Do I have a choice to begin with?_

"WASHY! Are you there?!"

"Y-yes, h-here, wh-wh-what?"

"You like Nurse Mildred, don't you?"

"M-Mildred, N-nurse M-Mildred…"

"WASHY?!"

"M-Mildred… N-Nurse M-Mildred, I like, y-yes…"

"This is your chance to prove it to her, Washy! You have the chance to do her a service!"

"Do a s-service? D-do her a s-service?"

"Yes, Washy, do her a service!" Chip was beginning to shake with this seemingly senseless dialogue but he tried hard to make his voice sound regularly and even friendly. "Do you want to do her a service? Will you do her a service?"

"S-service, service… Service for N-nurse M-Mildred… I w-want, I want…"

"Then listen carefully…"

"I w-want, w-want, w-want!"

_Well, even Dale's Nobel Prize winner compared to him!_

"Then listen and remember! Harris-street, 1500, apartment…"

---

"_Well, to tell the truth, I hoped you'll tell me it yourself."_

"_I don't think so. After all, just like any girl, I should have at least a bit of mystery, right? You like mysteries, Chip__…"_

---

_I'm crazy about them!_ Chip swore to himself. Well, it looked like Washy would have to do without apartment number. Chip's chances were rapidly running out but it was the best shot he had.

"Washy, do you hear? Medicine warehouse on Harris-street, 1500! That's five stops on bus number 111! Got it?"

Some mutterings were his answer.

"LOUDER, WASHY! SPEAK LOUDER!!!"

"H-Harris-street, 1500, bus 111. H-Harris-st-treet, 1500, b-bus 111. H-Harris-s―"

"Okay, okay, I got it! Nurse Mildred lives there! Find her and tell her that Mouise Bucksup is the killer! Killer is Mouise Bucksup! She should tell it to my friends when they get back! Got it?"

"G-got it. M-mouise B-bucksup is the killer!!!"

"Washy!"

"K-killer! Bucksup is killer! K-killer!"

_Looks like this is it…_

"WASHY!!!"

"Y-yes?"

"Go! Run! Find Mildred! Tell it to her! Quickly! As quickly as you can! Okay?!"

"Ok-kay! Quickly! Q-quickly!"

The janitor dashed away, not out of the room but further into it, though, and, if Chip heard it right, began to move something big.

"WASHY! WASHY!" Chip kept calling but the janitor was too far from the grate to hear him. Rescue Ranger decided that chipmunk-stammerer switched back to cleaning routine and everything is lost. But then he heard the sound of opening window and realized that Washy took his words too literary. _I hope he won't wait for 111__th__ bus passing along the street…_ Chip mused but the next moment thanked Washy for choosing such an intricate way out because just two minutes after his leaving the door to the unfinished part of the wing slammed again. This time the visitor started to unlock the Chip's door and he braced himself, ready to face death while holding his head as proudly as ever.

"So, Mitchell," he addressed the nurseman stepping up to his gurney with the syringe ready, "would you do to me the same as to Doctor Spivey?"

"Don't even hope!" the nurseman answered with a grin and his syringe came down. "Go, Washy, go…" Chip thought in his final conscious moment. He didn't have time to realize that he had just made the biggest and most important mistake not only in this case but in his entire life.

*** 5 ***

"Great job, Mrs. Bucksup! You are on top as always!"

"Thanks, doctor. He didn't but it, like you predicted, but I had to try, you know…"

"Yes, it was worth a shot."

"So, what do we do with him now?"

"Don't worry! Nobody will come there soon but we'll arrange a first-class ward for him much earlier, I assure you."

"No, I mean, in general."

"We'll keep him until the funeral, and then… Then it will be all!"

"No, not all! Don't forget, we have a problem, even four of them!"

"If you mean his friends then please don't worry, I have what to meet them with… Yes, come in!"

"You called me boss? I― Oh, sorry, I'll come later…"

"Don't be so nervous. It's a friend."

"A friend? You mean, she too…"

"Don't trample on the threshold, dimwit! Sure she is! It's Mrs. Bucksup!"

"Mrs. Bucksup? Oh, yeah, hello! And I was wondering where I could see you…"

"Enough! You weren't called here to show good manners but to work! Here, take it."

"What's this?"

"This is the home address of our mutual acquaintance, Miss Munkched. Your task is to make her live there no longer. And nowhere else for that matter. Know what I mean?"

"Know, boss."

"Good! Don't fail me!"

"She won't have a chance to say 'hi'…"

"Okay, I see. Go now!"

"Doctor, I see you acquired a taste for it. Still, if you hadn't been an easily carried away character, we wouldn't have been talking right now, no?"

"You're perfectly right, Mrs. Bucksup. But let's not talk of sad things on a night like this. So let me propose a toast to the success of our little operation and forthcoming passing of your beloved husband. Will you join me?"

"With pleasure!"


	9. Chapter 9 Individual Leaving

**Chapter**** 9**

**Individual Leaving**

* 1 *

_December 19__th__,__night_

_That's it, I guess…_

Dressed in laundered and ironed snow-white medical gown and a cap of the same color, Mildred Munkched, former nurse of the Small Central Hospital, cast her final glance over the living room, turned off the lights and went to her room. Everything was ready. The apartment was cleaned, the furniture polished to brilliance, all things put on their rightful places. Everything's done. Now she can leave.

She was allowed ten minutes to pack her things up. She did it in five. All her stuff fit into a box of human paper clips which she kept pressing to herself all the way. Turkle accompanied her to the exit. He wanted to grab her by elbow first but she broke away and went on her own, staring forward with her eyes red with tears and paying no attention to her escort or to the whispers of hospital workers watching them. She looked back only once, already at the gates, saying farewell to the brightest period of her short life. At that moment she knew she'd return there and the extra meeting scheduled for tomorrow would go without her. Altogether.

_I'm sorry, grandpa. I didn't do it. I failed and disgraced your name and our whole family. You know that I did nothing they blamed me for, __didn't take stimulator, didn't administer it to Mister Harold and didn't steal Chip's letters…_

Mildred shook and leant against the wall. Every time she remembered him she saw his last glance, full of hatred and disgust. If even he, the smartest and the kindest guy she'd ever met, remained deaf to her begging, then it's all hopeless indeed.

_Why, Chip? What have I done? What wrong have I done? It was so good, so warm, so festive… What for, Chip…?_

---

"_Forgive me, Mildred__… Frankly speaking, I'm not used to it. In my job you have to question everything, to apprehend a stab in the back…"_

---

_But why, Chip, why? You called me your friend and said that friends are beyond suspicion for you! You were sincere while saying it… You were, weren't you?_

But even if he was, what does it change?

Nothing. Nothing at all.

Mildred lay down on the bed and listened to the rhythmic ticking of old grandfather's cuckoo clock for some time. She recalled him lying right here and her kneeling down beside him, asking repeatedly what medicine she should bring him. As if for the real she saw his smile and heard his hoarse voice answering each time "there's no such medicine in this warehouse…" Now, after many years, she knew for sure that the medicine which could have saved her grandpa couldn't be found in this city, this country and the world. She was much luckier in this regard.

She extended her hand to the bedside table and took a syringe filled with turbid liquid. Concentrated pentobarbital. Her medicine. By the time the ambulance team arrives in the morning to pick her up and take to the meeting, everything will be over. That's why she didn't lock the front door and left the farewell note on the table in the living room in which she asked to be buried alongside her grandfather and devised her apartment to Sarah Cotton. Sarah lived in an old house in Cole Valley which should be demolished soon. She and her son will be comfortable here, and it's not too far form the hospital to boot.

"Goodbye, everybody. Forgive me if something was wrong," Millie said into the ceiling, rolled up her sleeve and brought the needle to the vein. The doze exceeded the lethal by two times, so it will quickly…

_What was that?_

Mildred froze and listened up. No, she wasn't hearing things. Somebody was indeed knocking at the door.

_Who could it be? From the hospital? It's too early… Neighbors? Too late…_

The knock repeated, now louder and more insistent. Even legs were used, it seemed. Must be an emergency. Someone must be needing medical help…

_But I'm not a nurse anymore…_

Millie looked at the syringe, then at the clock and placed the instrument back on the table. She can make an injection any time, but the ill rodent probably can't wait.

"It's opened!" she shouted entering the living room. The door opened letting in a stout male rat wearing the coat slipped over striped pajamas. He was holding a disheveled chipmunk with eyes bulging in terror.

"Mister Crawlford, what ha―" Millie began and broke off upon recognizing the janitor. "WASHY?!"

The janitors face turned into one big smile. "H-hi, N-nurse M-mildred! I f-found you, I found y-you…"

"So he's your friend, Miss Munkched?" Crawlford asked angrily.

"Yes, he is. Where did you find him?"

"Over our windows, yelling and calling your name. I shouted him that you lived on the other side of the building but he kept running around the yard crying loudly and kept kicking while I led him here. Is he mad or what?"

"No, Mister Crawlford, he's― just behaves a little strange at times. Thank you very much, I'm so sorry…"

Crawlford let Washy go but he didn't move a bit and still stood, hunch up and with his head pulled into his shoulders.

"Not at all, Miss Munkched," the rat said. "But next time tell your friends your full address, please. Good night!"

"Good night, Mister Crawlford!" Millie answered and when the door closed turned to the janitor.

"Washy, how did you get here?"

"Y-your n-neighb-bour b-brought m-me," Washy answered.

Millie smiled knowingly. If it wasn't for stuttering, Washy wouldn't stand out against other rodents. It was mimic and the manner of answering questions that were giving him away. Someone unfamiliar with his illness could decide that Washy was mocking him since his reaction looked too overblown and his answers too silly. Those who knew of his illness considered him mentally retarded idiot.

But Mildred knew he understood everything and in fact, sometimes better then others. Just like those blind are notable for their remarkable hearing which replace the vision for them, Washy was notable for his well developed 'sixth sense' granted to him instead of atrophied ability for analytical and synthetic thinking. He perceived the world not through the mind but directly and reacted to it directly, too.

Sometimes it helped him to see something hidden from the others whose mind played the role of prism focusing some rays while dispersing the other. But it was still a shortcoming most of the time because the direct perception was accompanied with direct reaction and inability to abstract away from the moment. That's where clear and clean emotions which seemed hypertrophied and unreal compared to usual half-tones came from along with inability to understand what answer he's expected to give. To start understanding Washy you just needed to learn to listen attentively and ask right questions. Too bad only a handful of rodents took the trouble…

Millie switched to specific questions. "How did you know the address?"

"It was t-told to m-me by Ch-ch-ch… Chip!" the janitor literary spat the Ranger's name out which for some reason was very hard for him to pronounce.

"CHIP?! But…" Millie grew pale. "Washy, what happened?! That is, what else did he say?"

"He asked m-me to t-tell you that M-Mouise B-bucks-sap is a k-k-k…"

"What?! What about Mouise Bucksup? What is 'k-k-k'? Please, Washy, calm down…"

"K-k-killer!" the chipmunk shouted.

"Who's killer…? Wait, wait, Mouise Bucksup is the killer? Chip said it?"

"Y-yes, h-he asked m-me to t-tell you th-this."

Now Millie stopped understanding anything. "But why me?"

"S-so th-that you t-tell it to h-his friend-ds wh-when they g-get here."

"His friends? Rescue Rangers? But… Oh, gosh, oh, gosh! WASHY! WHAT'S WITH HIM?!"

"I d-don't know, N-nurse Mild-dred. He d-didn't say, just a-asked me to…"

"Is he alright? Tell me everything…! Oh, don't stop on the threshold, come in!"

"Th-thanks, N-nurse Mildred!" the janitor accepted the invitation. He entered the living room and looked around, amazed with tidiness. "Y-you have a very n-nice home, N-nurse…"

"Washy, how's Chip?" Mildred interrupted him. "Is he alright?"

Washy shook his head. "I d-don't know. I didn't s-see him."

"You didn't? But how did you talk to him then?"

"Th-through the w-wall."

"What wall, Washy?"

"In th-the library."

"What library?"

"On the up-pper f-floor."

"You mean, the hospital library? But it's― it's under construction…" Millie finished in a cheerless tone. "He… He's in danger, yes?! What else did he say?!"

"H-he said that I sh-should speak l-louder."

"Speak louder? He couldn't hear you? And you? Did you hear him well?"

"N-no, b-badly…"

"Gosh, gosh, gosh…" Millie lamented imagining Chip beaten almost to death and left for dead in the unfinished library, barely moving his bleeding lips. "Washy, I need to go to him! Can you take me to him?"

"Y-yes," Washy said in a low voice. The corners of his mouth went down turning sugary smile into sour one. His eyes were still following every movement of Mildred running around the room, but now they looked like covered with cellophane.

Quickly gathering her first aid kit, Mildred went to the door. "Let's go, Washy!" she called and the janitor went after her obediently. They headed to the bus stop but at the corner of the building almost ran into a large muscular rat with disheveled black hair.

"Turkle?!" Millie exclaimed?!

"Orderl-ly T-Turkle?" Washy asked stopping next to her. His appearance caught the goon off guard and he found nothing better then asking: "What are you doing here, Wash-It?"

"Don't call him like that!" the nurse shouted. Washy bristled up and stepped between her and the mouse. But then Turkle suddenly smiled broadly and said the last words he could be expected to say.

"I'm sorry, Washy. I'm sorry, Millie. Please, come with me."

"What happened with you, Turkle?" the nurse wondered. "Is it you or someone else?"

"Please, Millie, you should come with me," Turkle repeated reaching his paw towards her.

"N-no!" Washy said. His mind couldn't grasp what was going on here but his senses told him that Turkle was up to something bad.

"Stop it, Washy, it's…" Millie began but then frowned. "Turkle, what are you doing here?"

"Me? Well, I… Mister Chip sent me!"

"Mister Chip?"

"D-don't b-believe him, Nurse M-Mildred!" Washy stepped back pushing her away from the orderly. "H-he is b-bad, u-ugly!"

"Please, Millie!" Turkle stepped forward. "Mister Chip's waiting for you. Come with me, I'll take you to him!" He saw that Millie was hesitating and added: "Washy'll go with us, too. Will you, Washy?"

"No! N-no!" the janitor shook his head violently. "I w-won't! Nurse Mild-dred, don't g-go with him a-anywh-where!"

Millie was bewildered. Turkle's coming was very suspicious and he behaved strangely, not to mention that given Chip's attitude towards him it seemed impossible for him to seek orderly's help. On the other hand, Washy wasn't really good messenger either, being too prone to simple solutions like running around her warehouse looking desperately for her flat…

"Say, Turkle, it's Chip who gave you my address, yes?" she asked.

Her humble attempts to speak casually would never fool anyone clever enough. But Turkle wasn't like that and gladly seized such a great opportunity to explain his presence.

"Sure, who else?"

"He said Harris-street, 1500, apartment seven, yes?"

"Eight," Turkle corrected her and frowned, only now sensing the catch. "What is this check for, Millie?"

"To make sure that Chip couldn't have sent you here since he didn't new my apartment num…"

She didn't have time to finish the sentence. Knowing he was unmasked, Turkle went from useless words to deeds and lunged forward aiming at Mildred's throat. Washy grabbed his outstretched hands but Turkle threw him off and turned to his main target again. But Millie gathered her wits and hit him a number of times with her first aid bag. The orderly didn't expect such vim and backed off, but then Mildred made one unnecessary step forward allowing him to intercept her hand raised for another hit, tear her improvised weapon from her fist and throw it into the darkness.

Instinctively Millie stepped back but stumbled over something and Turkle raised his fist for crushing blow. But Washy, now fully recovered from his fall, stuck his teeth into Turkle's leg. The goon screamed with pain and tried to flap the janitor off. Washy was holding tightly but after Turkle hit him several times with his heel weakened his grip. Turkle freed his leg and turned around to finish off the chipmunk writhing with pain on the ground but Millie didn't allow him to. Gathering a handful of brick dust fallen off the wall she jumped up to her enemy and threw it into his eyes.

Turkle yelled like a wounded Cyclops and started to clean his eyes feverishly. Mildred yanked Washy up on his legs and pulled after her towards the bus stop. As soon as the giant's sight recovered he ran after them. He wasn't actually quite a runner, but Washy was even worse one after receiving two devastating blows into his chest, so the orderly was inevitably catching up with the two chipmunks.

When the pair reached the street they saw an appropriate bus approaching the station and quickened their pace. They couldn't allow themselves to miss the bus since at this time they ran with 25-30 minutes long intervals and they knew they wouldn't hold so long against the orderly brute.

"Faster, Washy, faster! We'll be there soon!" Mildred hurried her friend. Washy said nothing. He lacked air badly and his breath, strained and sibilant, showed he was at his limit already.

"Faster, faster! It's leaving!" the nurse shouted. They were some hundred feet away from the bus when it closed the doors and switched his turn signal on but didn't move yet, allowing a car driving in adjacent lane to pass.

"T-take it, N-nurse M-Mild-dred…" she heard the janitor's faint voice and felt something hard pressed to her breast. It was Washy's hand clutching the ring with jingling keys. "He's in c-c-circulating l-library hall…"

"Washy…"

"Run, N-nurse… W-without m-me, you'll c-catch it …"

"No, Washy, we'll…"

"I l-love you, Nurse M-Mildred…"

Millie stumbled over and almost fell down. She opened her mouth to answer something but Washy shoved the keys into her pocket, then turned around and dashed back towards rapidly approaching Turkle. The nurse wanted to stop but then thought about Chip and ran even harder. Gathering all her strength she jumped up on the bumper of already moving bus and looked back to see Washy grabbing some fallen branch and running to intercept Turkle who continued to chase the bus. Then the vehicle turned and Millie was alone. She was still under the impression of what she heard and just sat there, hunched up on the bus' rear bumper, mindlessly running her fingers over the cold keys in her pocket.

* 2 *

The distance between the bus stop and the SCH gates Mildred covered in short rushes from one lamp post to another, looking back time after time and freezing at the slightest sound. She knew it would be difficult for her to get into the hospital after the morning events, but counted on Washy's help who knew the hospital like his own home. But now she had no guide and no first aid kit. Only her uniform as a camouflage and the key ring which gave albeit faint but still some hope for success.

_Gosh, Chip, where are you, how are you…?_ She thought, looking from the deep shadows at the building showing up white in the night. _In the circulating library,_ the answer was. But to get there she had to go through the entire hospital unnoticed, and the failure wouldn't result in merely another banishment. Turkle's behavior showed that Mouise Bucksup had accomplices among the hospital workers who were hunting for her and won't let her off alive.

But finding Chip was just half the work. She had to bring him out of the hospital somehow which, given his condition, was even harder. He's got a broken leg already and they probably had beaten and tortured him so he could be unconscious. She had liquid ammonia in her first aid kit but it was lost now. The hospital had all she needed in its storage rooms, both human and rodent. But the former was too vast for her alone to search and the latter was closed for her, too, for even if the storekeeper wasn't one of the criminals, he or she would raise the alarm at her first sight…

But what if…

_Who's on duty tonight?_ Mildred pondered._ Yesterday at night was Mrs. Oswald's shift, before that ― Mrs. Doughnut's and before her ― Mr. Ratford. Which means that tonight is either Mrs. Doughnut's turn or… or Prudence's! That's a chance!_

Mildred clenched her little fists, praying for a little luck, and ran to the underground garage entrance. Making sure that the entrance to SCH was closed, she ran to the opposite end of the garage where the garbage bins stood. Carefully passing the open gates of hospital garage where the voices of ambulance team members could be heard, Millie ran to obscure little door painted with the same color as the wall. It was service entrance and it was locked.

Millie almost panicked but remembered about the key ring and was greatly relieved to find the key marked "garage". Behind the door was a labyrinth of service corridors which ran through entire hospital allowing firemice, electricians and janitors to reach any part of SCH freely. Mildred recalled to have seen a similar door not far from the storage room. It remained only to find it and there was no one to ask…

The sign written on the wall with fluorescent paint caught her attention. It showed three thick arrows pointing forward, upward and downward, accompanied by explanations written in language known only to initiates. The nurse felt that if she read them she would have no problems finding the way to the storage but couldn't grasp the meaning of the sign.

The only obvious thing was that there was a group of three acronyms corresponding to each arrow. They were FH, EG and SE, followed by coma separated pairs of digits. The arrows were obviously showing the way to different objects of types FH, EG and SE, but what did it mean? Mildred went through all word combinations associated with the SCH she knew but couldn't come up with anything suitable. She got stuck, time was running out and any second somebody could come and find her for there was no place to hide in the narrow corridor.

"Gosh, gosh…" Millie whispered while nervously twisting her cap in her paws. At first she twisted the keys but they jingled too loudly. "What is it? What does it mean? What?! Where are you, Chip, when I need you so much? You'd know it from the very first glance, then snap your fingers, say your famous 'it's elementary!' catchphrase and everything would be chrystal clear! But what can I do? I know nothing about it. I'm just a nurse; I'm not detective, or Rescue Ranger, or―"

_Wait a minute…_

She looked at the acronyms once again, starting to get the idea. All this time she tried to find their meaning in terms of her own experience and her field of work. But these signs were here not for the sake of doctors and nurses but for those working _here_, in these corridors.

_It has something to do with firemice and electricians!_ Millie understood. _What objects are important for them? Let's suppose the first letter in FH means 'fire'. What can 'H' mean then? 'Hood'? 'Hideaway'…?_

Hydrant!

Millie barely restrained herself from First Reply Happy Dance. Sure! Fire hydrant of particular number tied to the location! If you know the number of the hydrant closest to the storage room you'll find the latter in a moment!

The problem was, she didn't know that number.

_Okay, maybe I'll be luckier with EG and SE?_

Now when Millie was familiar with the way the signs were formed it took her very little time to understand that EG meant 'Emergency Generator' ― another device activated in case of emergency. But their numbers also told her nothing. Now only one option remained, SE. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't come up with a reasonable idea. It wasn't strange for she was neither firemunk nor electrician, but it wasn't too big a relief. And even more vexing was the feeling that she had seen all these digits not too long ago…

"Oh my, what is this punishment for…?" she muttered clenching the shredded cap. "Why am I so stupid?! Why do I know nothing?! I work here from the beginning and still know nothing, nothing! Nothing!"

She leant back on the wall and hit it several times with her fists and head. Not the best way to concentrate, to be sure, for now her fists and back of her head were hurting and the keys in her pocket jingled again not allowing to think clearly…

KEYS!

Mildred examined the keys closely and almost screamed with joy. This was it! That's where she saw these digits! When she unlocked the garage door! There were fifteen pairs of digits in the SE category and each of them had a matching key! Door numbers! And SE was nothing else but 'Service Entrance'! And there were two big digits painted on that door near the warehouse!

_What were those digits?_

The keys were numbered from 11 to 19 and from 21 to 26. This meant that the service doors were numbered according to the same principle as the doctors' cabinets and the first digit meant the floor. The storage was located on the first, underground floor. That left nine doors, still eight too many.

_What was that door's number? Remember! Remember!!!_

_No, stop. You should calm down…_

Millie closed her eyes and went on thinking about the wall as Chip taught her. After that she thought about the door in the wall, then about the digits on the door…

_If __the numeration scheme is indeed the same as with the cabinets, then the numbers should start from left to right relative to the main entrance. The storage is in the right wing, so the first five digits won't do. Which number will? Which number was there?_

_19? 18? 17? 16? Which? Which?!_

_No, not 17 for sure, the second digit had circle in it. And not 19 since it must be the farthest end of the building… 18! Yes, 18!_

Mildred checked the direction towards SE-18 and went there. In fact, she almost ran trying to compensate the time she had lost. She wasn't afraid to get lost since now she knew what to look for. Now her only concern was the storage keeper. If only it were Prudence…

She was saved by the fact that electrician was walking buried in the scheme and swearing loudly to himself. When Millie heard his steps and voice nearby she had one last second to leap back into the corridor letting the worker of wire and spark pass in five human inches away from her. When he disappeared, Millie sighed in relief and continued walking, this time listening to every sound. To her good fortune, most of the time it was either a sound of snoring or loud talking of the 'blue collars' whiling away the time of their shift with gambling and anecdotes, and she reached the needed door without problems.

Unlocking it quietly, Mildred peeked into the corridor and was happy to find it empty. Now, with the methods of converting human medicines into rodent-compatible ones fully worked out, nobody needed to stay in the pharmacology section till late at night doing the research so the chances she'd meet no one but the storage keeper were high. There was a danger of someone else coming to get the needed medicines, though, not to mention that someone else but Prudence could be on duty that night…

It was Prudence habitually sleeping in the corner and it took Millie some efforts to wake her up.

"Millie, my girl!" the rat exclaimed approaching the window with uncommon haste. This quickness alarmed the chipmunk who thought that Prudence was one of the criminals, too. But the old rat's joy had another reason altogether.

"I told them! I told them it's not true!"

"What is not true?" Millie cautiously asked while stepping back to the door.

"That you were fired with disgrace for stealing the letters! Just think about it, dear! I'll tear Doris' tongue out!"

"What else Doris said?"

"I'd better not know, dear, trust old Prudence! No, just imagine! And she looked at me as though I was mad or worse! But I know how to tell the truth from the slander! I'll skin her alive for this backbiting! I'll show her!"

Mildred smiled. "Oh, Prudence, please. Don't mind Doris…"

"No 'don't minds', my dear! This dirty gossip must be nipped in the bud before the folks carry it all over the place! If I were you I'd immediately head to Doctor Stone and tell him about it! Doris must get a good scolding!"

"All right, Prudence, I'll do as you say," the nurse said to reconcile her. "I'm sorry, but I need to get something and get it fast…"

"Everything is fast for the youth; everything is needed in a second. The world grows mad these days…" the storage keeper sighed and opened the inner door. "Come in, Millie! You'll find everything faster than me and without my help."

"No, Prudence, you are irreplaceable!" Millie assured her and quickly disappeared amidst the shelvings wishing she had something like supermarket carriage with her. She would take the whole storage with her but had to go with the most basic means. That's why she took just a pack of cotton wool, two hanks of bandages and a vial with ammonia spirit. Already ready to go, she remembered Dr. Spivey's words and took a lonely vial of cordiamizol along with injection kit. If there was something capable of reviving Chip fast, even if for short time only, it was this new drug.

"Difficult case?" Prudence worried, counting down the medicines she chose.

"Yes, Prudence, very!" the nurse nodded and paused, wondering if she should tell the rat about Mouise Bucksup for additional security. But she instantly dismissed the idea. First, nobody would believe Prudence which was considered to be no more then a senile old rat kept here because of pity and expert knowledge of the medicine storage. Second, the criminals will simply kill her.

"Thanks, Prudence! Good night!"

"Good night, Millie, good night!"

Prudence followed Mildred to the door, sighed and went back to her corner. She fell asleep very fast and the next visitor had to use the tested "nails over the glass" routine to wake her.

"Yes? Oh? Mitchie! Back here already?"

"Yes, Prudence, back to you," the ambulance nurseman said giving the list through the window. "And all the same again!"

"Good heavens, what do you need so much sedatives to?"

"Horrible accident, the patient's screaming his head off," Mitchell explained shortly. "Faster, if you please!"

"Okay-okay!" Prudence said maneuvering along the shelves with a dancer's grace. She collected everything in one stroll without turning around even once and returned to the counter, her paws full. "You've got a hard work, Mitchie. They make you all running…"

"They do," the nurseman nodded putting the vials into his coat's broad pockets.

"You haven't got a rest for quite some time now, just like poor Millie," the rat went on filling the registration journal.

The nurseman hemmed. "Poor Millie? I wouldn't say so. Did you hear what she did? She―"

"IT'S A LIE!" Prudence shouted making the glass clatter. "She's good and courteous girl and she knows did _nothing_ of it!"

"Believe what you want to, Old Prudence," the nurseman waved his hand, knowing that there was no use in arguing.

"That's what I do! My eyes and ears are alright! Don't doubt that, all of you!"

Mitchell stopped on the threshold. "Eyes and ears, you said?" he asked. "Sorry to disappoint you, but half of the hospital saw her escorted out and―"

"If they escorted her out, then they escorted her in!" Prudence objected, pointing upwards with her finger to stress her words' significance.

"What do you mean, Prudence?"

"That she's still working in the hospital looking after her patients, that's what I mean! So leave these gossips to the ravens to feed on, Mitchie, and listen to Old―"

"You saw her?!" the nurseman ran up to the counter and pressed himself to the glass as if trying to squeeze through the window.

"Just like I see you!" Prudence nodded. "And don't interrupt those older than you, it's…"

Mitchell didn't get to know what interrupting of older rodents meant. He dashed out of the room, giving Prudence another reason to lament about the young ones' restless character, and ran to the stairwell. He didn't need to use the elevator for it as infinitely slow compared to his flight up the stairs.

"Doctor! Doctor!" he shouted running into the cabinet and scaring the doctor and the actress so much they almost dropped their glasses.

"What happened, Mitchell?! Why without knocking?!" the cabinet owner asked, infuriated.

"There… Prudence…" the nurseman began but was interrupted and almost hit by the black-haired orderly rushing in at full speed.

"Boss! Boss! The nurse ran away!"

"Ran away?!" the doctor paled. "You let her go?! Do you understand what it means?! We'll need to search the entire city now…"

"We won't, doc," Mitchell broke him off. "She's here! In the hospital!"

"Here…?" the doctor's face assumed the color of his medical gown. "Why are you standing, idiots?! Run! To the library! RUN!!!"

* 3 *

_Strange…_ Chip thought stopping on the next intersection. _I was absent for a couple of weeks and our HQ changed so much! Real labyrinth, like in Dale's videogames… But it won't stop me!_

He took another look into each of the corridors running into different directions and made sure that they looked perfectly equal. They also sounded equal since there were no sounds at all, felt equal being cut in the same sleek wood, and smelled…

No, they didn't smell equal!

In the second corridor on the right Chip felt the poignant odor which immediately called up the most pleasant associations.

Machine oil. Workshop. Gadget.

The right corridor turned out much longer than one could imagine knowing the dimensions of the tree. It surprised Chip but didn't really bothered, not to mention that the scent of oil was growing stronger and soon he heard the faint hissing of the welding machine. Gadget was there. Good. He'll finally speak with her about it…

"Hi, Chip, come in!" Gadget welcomed him. "What do you think?"

"Impressive!" Chip nodded observing the giant white airliner, so huge that it was amazing how she fit in here. The plane had four turbojet engines and a total of twelve gear posts, two forward and five under each wing. It was "Condor", one of the biggest cargo planes in the world which was even featured in one of Dirk Suave movies…

"Look here!" the mouse climbed up the wing and pressed one of the flaps down causing it to move. "They are moving! Every one of them! Flaps, rudder, gears!"

"I know, Gadget! Listen, I wanted to say…"

"But that's not all of it!" Gadget went on, too carried away to listen. She ran to the wing's leading edge and jumped down on the engine. "Look!"

She blew into the engine and its fins started rotating.

"Neat, huh?"

"I know, Gadget, I saw it already," Chip waved his hand. "Listen, there's something I've been wanting to tell you…"

He didn't have time to finish. The engine suddenly started working for real. Tremendous roar filled the room and the air flow hit chipmunk in the face, so strong that it started to carry him out of the workshop. It was strange since he was standing in front of the engine and the jet stream should have been coming from behind it. But even stranger was that the wind didn't affect Gadget at all, even her hair moved only slightly despite her standing right next to the air inlet.

_Oh boy, she's… She's gonna be dragged into it!!!_

"GADGET!" Chip yelled with all his might. "GADGET! GADGE-E-E-ET!!!"

The roar changed into the screeching and thick black smoke appeared from inside the engine, and the air flow instantly grabbed it and through at Chip. He coughed and tried to cover himself first with his paw, then his hat. But the smoke was very dense and was getting into the tiniest holes not allowing him to open mouth or even breathe normally.

"GADGET!" he shouted once again, gathering all his strength. But the mouse looked through him, apparently not seeing him behind the smoke puffs.

"GADG―" the chipmunk started coughing unable to withstand acrid smoke and very strong scent. He could do nothing but watch Gadget's face disappear in the smoke and hackingly whisper her name.

"Ga-dget… Gad… Gadget…"

"Chip?"

_She answered! She heard me!_

"Gadget…"

"Chip! Chip!"

"Gadget…"

The smoke became pitch-dark and the air flow, already a wild vortex, lifted Chip into the air and threw him down somewhere from the astounding height.

"Chip! Chip, wake up!"

The black screen vanished and Chip thought blurred outlines of someone's face.

"Gadget?" he asked weakly, barely moving his dry lips and blinking fast. He'd be happy to rub his eyes but his hands refused to move.

"No, Chip, it's me! Millie!" answered the owner, or rather owneress, of the blurred face which was becoming clearer with each passing second as though someone was rapidly turning the sharpness adjustment control.

"Millie?" Chip asked again. "What are you doing in our Headquarters?"

"No, Chip, I'm in the Small Central Hospital, just like you!"

"Small Central—MILLIE!"

Chip tried to sit up but the restraining belts cut into his body making him scream with pain. The nurse threw the ammonium-soaked cotton wool away and unfastened them. Chip sat again, too abruptly as it turned out because the feat of giddiness almost sent him back down on the gurney. But Millie quickly embraced Chip not letting him down.

"Oh boy, Millie, you― you came…" Rescue Ranger muttered. He wanted to hug her back but his hands didn't cooperate and just hanged loosely.

"Gosh, Chip," the nurse whispered. "What did they do to you?"

"I don't know… Injected something…"

"What's going on, Chip? First they found syringes with cordiamizol and your letters in my desk, then Washy comes to me, then Turkle attacks us―"

"Turkle…" Chip mumbled, though not really surprised. Now, when the nurseman he "fought with" turned out being the night intruder, there was nothing surprising, actually.

"Millie, listen…"

"Washy told me that Mrs. Bucksup was the killer, so I―"

"Yes, Millie," Chip nodded. "It's her. Her and… and Turkle and Mitchell…"

"Mitchell? From the ambulance?"

"Yes…" chipmunk nodded barely noticeably. Mildred's help notwithstanding, it was harder and harder for him to maintain vertical position and fight the desire to lie down and sleep. "But… But that's not all of them… There's also… I think Doctor Stone is involved, too…"

"STONE?!" Millie exclaimed almost dropping him.

"Yes… Listen, you… you…" ammonium's shock effect faded away completely and Chip closed his eyes. His faint mumbling was the only indication of his bare consciousness.

"Chip, wait…" Millie carefully put him down and took a black box out of her pocket. "You'll be better in a moment!"

"No… Listen…"

"It will help, trust me!"

The nurse rubbed his arm with ethanol included in the injection kit and administered double doze of the stimulator which should have quickly revive Chip without significantly damaging his strong young organism. Chip felt nothing for some time, but then he felt like being thrown into boiling water. There was ringing in his ears and some powerful electric charge ran through his body, indicating the revival of nerve endings previously suppressed by the drug. Rescue Ranger immediately felt overwhelming urges for action, the more tireless the better. Mildred even had to hold him back for some time until the shock effect diminished.

"Wow! Oh! That's! What?! Is?! It?!" Chip panted out.

"Cordiamizol, the newest stimulator!" Millie answered, happy to see him coming back to life.

"Cordiamizol? That cordiamizol! You are genius!" Chip hugged the blushing nurse closely and shook, remembering yesterday's night.

Millie grabbed his hand. "Let's go, Chip! We must get you out of here!"

"No, wait!" Chip shook his head. Every time she touched him he responded with strong impulse, but it could be the result of stimulator, not his instincts, so he decided to double check. "Who was your grandfather's favorite author?"

"Grandpa's? Howard Baskerville. But what…?"

"Nothing, Millie, it's nothing…" Chip said embracing her. "Forgive me. Forgive me for suspecting you of being involved in this crime, for thinking badly about you… For not listening and not believing…"

"I forgave already," was the quiet answer.

"Really? Millie, you are just…" Chip smiled but frowned again. "Wait, but how did you get in here? Wasn't the door locked?"

"It was, but Washy gave me his keys and… WHAT HAPPENED?!" Mildred exclaimed in terror when Chip clenched his head. "What, Chip?! Pain?! Vertigo?!"

"No, Millie. Stupidity. Complete and utter stupidity…" chipmunk groaned. It was unimaginable! If Washy had the key from the adjacent room, he could have had the key from Chip's one, too! And he didn't even think about it! _Fool! Fool!_ Chip scolded himself.

"Let's go, Chip!" Mildred hurried him but then stopped. "No, lie down! I'll drive you out! That would be faster!"

_Good thinking…_ Chip thought, staring into the ceiling moving above him. _I have gone to pieces altogether… I laughed at poor Blotson so much when he turned the __Barrymore__ Mansion upside down, but acted no better than him! The aspirin blow must have been stronger than I thought… Poor Dale, I wonder how he kept at least a bit of sanity after all my bonks…_

Millie drove the gurney out of the hall and down the corridor to the doors, but then they swung open with a crash and a massive figure appeared in the doorway.

"Gosh, Turkle!" she exclaimed.

"Millie, there!" Chip commanded pointing at the door to the next room which Washy left half-opened.

Barely missing the wall, the nurse drove the gurney there. The room was much smaller then the hall and at the moment served a storage for building materials. There were tarpaulin-covered planks and cans with glue and paint lying along the walls and the forest of ladders and trestles was in the middle. One of the trestles had been moved up to the opened window.

"Quick! We must block the doors!" Chip shouted jumping off the gurney.

"With what, Chip?!"

"This!"

No sooner had they moved the trestle up to the door when it shook under Turkle's powerful blows. Mildred and Chip could barely held the jumping gurney in place and it was clear they won't hold for too long. Especially when Turkle was joined by someone else.

"What now… Chip?" Mildred asked, watching the door cracking.

"Bring me… the plank… the short one…" Ranger asked motioning at the cutting lying on top of the large pile. Mildred ran to get it and the time of her absence felt like eternity to Chip who had to hold off several enemies alone. They put the short plank under the gurney and Chip drove it between the gurney and the floor, turning it into reliable but temporary support. Very temporary, actually.

"Quick, Chip! Climb!" Mildred pulled him towards the trestle near the window. Chip shook his head.

"No, Millie, it won't work!"

"Why?! It surely will! Hurry, Chip!"

"I won't get far away with my leg…"

Some really strong blow made the gurney jump up and the plank cracked loudly.

"No, Chip, I won't leave you! Let's go! We'll make it!"

"Millie…"

"No, Chip!" the tears ran from Millie's eyes. "Let's go! You'll make it! I have more stimulator…"

"Stimulator won't do anything. I can't really step down on my leg even with it. Please…"

The upper door hinge tore out of the doorframe with a crack.

"Gosh, Chip! They are coming!"

"Yes, Millie," chipmunk squeezed her paws tightly. "That's why I want you to promise to do everything I'll ask you to. Word for word. It's very important. Promise?"

Mildred sobbed and looked into Chip's eyes, sparkling with tears but filled with grim resolution.

"I promise…"

* 4 *

The plank cracked in half and the gurney flew across the room along with the door torn out from its hinges. Turkle jumped in and the first thing he saw was the trestle at the window with Chip balancing unevenly on top of it, desperately trying to reach the windowsill. When he saw Turkle, he turned to the window and yelled:

"MILLIE, RUN! THEY ARE HERE! RUN…!"

That was all he was able to shout before the goon dashed up to the trestle and pulled it violently, causing the chipmunk to fall prone on the floor.

"Alright, piece of fur!" Turkle roared picking him up and shaking a couple of times. "You are finished!"

Chip said nothing but spat right into his enemy's bloodshot eyes. The orderly howled and threw him back on the floor. He lifted his leg to deliver the blow but was stopped by Mitchell's loud command:

"Leave him, Turkle! Go find the girl!"

Turkle put his leg down with visible disappointment and jumped up on the trestle.

"No one!" he said looking out into the window. "She ran away!"

The nurseman swore. "I told the boss to send me instead of you…"

"Shut up, Mitch! The two of them would have kicked you out in a minute!"

"WHAT?!" Mitchell reared. "Me?! The nurse-girl and the janitor?! Mind your tongue, meatbag!"

"Sweet couple… What's more to add…" Chip issued a mocking commentary. He slowly sat up and leant back on the wall.

"Keep mum, shorty!" Turkle snarled. "I haven't finished with you yet! And when I do―"

"Okay, colleagues, what have we got here?" the doctor broke him off entering the room together with Mouise. Chip winced. He was getting used to all his conclusions turning out wrong, but wasn't ready for such a failure.

"So that's you, Kurt…" he said in a low voice.

"Surprised, Mister Chip?" Spivey asked. "Good to hear that… Alright, where's the nurse?"

Turkle and Mitchell shrugged expressively. Chip smiled with triumph.

"You won't catch her. She's far away already. You lost!"

"Please, my friend, don't make hasty conclusions!" the hamster took him down a peg. "The premature diagnosis is no less dangerous than the tardy one; I say it as a doctor!"

Chip smiled wryly. He didn't expect such turn of events but now many facts got really logical and, more importantly, very simple explanations. Among them the reason for Spivey's active protests against the stimulator, why he assigned himself to search the shelving where the criminal had hidden and why he grew pale upon seeing the empty shelf. It also explained why pseudo-Millie told Garding Spivey sent her and why there were still no answers from other medical institutions he was responsible to contact…

"As a doctor, you say? You aren't a doctor, Kurt, not at all. No doctor will administer his patient capybara doses of experimental sedative to kill him slowly and make it look like death from an aging. No doctor will do what you did to Millie whose idea to use the stimulators in Mister Bucksup's treatment threatened your plan. That's why you decided to plant my letters into her desk and asked Mrs. Bucksup to play the role of her. The analysis results were a fake, too. You prepared them beforehand because had you used the lab that day Stewart would have known what's going on. There was no stimulator but that new sedative in the syringe which Mitchell destroyed while running blindly away from me…"

"I wasn't running blindly!" the offended nurseman objected. "I was running very sightedly!"

"Sightedly?" Spivey asked with unmasked irony.

"Sure sightedly! He would have hit me with the crutch if I turned to the second building, so I…"

Spivey exploded. "Too bad he didn't hit you! Maybe that would make you a lesser fool! If it hadn't been for you, we would have finished everything long time ago!"

Mitchell instantly cheered down. "It's not my fault they placed the pack on top of one of the boxes on the edge, boss…"

Chip seized the opportunity to attack. "But boss thought otherwise and told Turkle to beat the living daylights out of you, thus combining pleasure with usefulness, yes?"

His blow hit the target. Mitchell never thought about this variant, but now he clenched his fists and looked at Spivey.

"So that's what―" he began and almost fell down after Turkle's clout on the head. "Hey, what are you doing?!"

"Thanks, Turkle," Spivey praised his minion's efforts, then spoke to Mitchell in a very different tone.

"You should use your empty head more often, Mitch! Chip knows what that stage fighting was for and is scolding himself for jumping at that bait! All his words now have one purpose ― to provoke us, make us enemies and win the ally among us! Am I right, Chip?"

_He leads one to zero_… Chip thought but didn't show it.

"Yes, fight for Washy was a great idea, Kurt!" he said in casual tone which took him efforts to maintain. "And you were acting great! You even vouched your head for him! The epitome of calm. And during our conversation? Master! Mouise the Second!"

Mrs. Bucksup hemmed sarcastically and the doctor bowed slightly.

"I'm glad to hear such a praise from the professional of your level, Chip, and humbled by comparison with one of the greatest actresses of our time. But I'm not an actor. Just experienced poker player who knows how to show calm and take risks if the stake warrants it."

Chip raised his eyebrow. "Poker, you say? That's what she bought you with? Ordinary case. The inveterate poker player who worked in a laboratory in Nevada for quite some time and who still visits his colleagues from time to time. And not only them, right, Kurt? Las-Vegas, green table, high stakes… How much is your debt?"

Spivey pursed his lips. The score was equalized.

"Well, Chip, your astuteness can't be doubted," he admitted his loss in this round. "But it won't help you. The operation came too late, as they say."

"No, it didn't!" Rescue Ranger said with persuasion. "Millie knows everything and will tell everybody!"

"No, Chip, she knows nothing! You realized it was me only when I came here, so this your bravado is of no use at all! I'm a poker player and your bluffs won't help you!"

"It's not my bluff, it's you who underestimate her! I'm sure you didn't expect her to come here and find me, did you?"

Spivey frowned. "You are right, that's really interesting. Turkle, Mitchell, I'm waiting for explanations!"

"It was Wash-It!" the orderly howled. "He was at Millie's home and…"

"…he's got all keys, too," the doctor finished for him. "Darn, I personally told everyone to stay out of these rooms until the next year but this crazy chap living in his own fancy world…"

"He's not a problem anymore! I took care of him!" Turkle assured his boss.

"You'd better took care of your brains, Kurt! If you used them at least as often as your fists…"

Chip interjected again. "You know, Kurt, I must admit that I think much better of Mister Turkle now! If he hadn't spilled the contents of the syringe on the wall, everything could have gone the other way!"

His flattery bounced off Turkle like buckshot off an elephant. "Another face-palm for you, Mister Detective! I didn't even think about touching that syringe!"

Chip wasn't really impressed. "Then I take my words about your wisdom back! But I think it was him who put soporific into my food. It was obviously your idea, Kurt, you even prescribed yourself a whole pile of it to fight 'insomnia'. Turkle just had to escort the nurse on duty allegedly helping her with the tray cart and spill the drug over my plate when she entered the ward. You were careful enough to mix it with salt to fight the taste, though it was no more then direct plagiarism from Howard Baskerville's works."

"It was," the doctor agreed. "And worked very nice, I must say. Careful dosage, no aftereffects. Sweet, no?"

Chip pretended to think for a second, then shook his head. "No. Too much salt. You may be a good chemist, Spivey, but you are a horrible cook."

The hamster answered this primitive egging on with condescending smile. Chip, in turn, ignored his reaction altogether and went on, unmoved.

"And concerning syringe, if that wasn't Turkle, you or Mrs. Mouise, then it must have been Mitchell during our fight…"

"Not poor Millie, that's for sure!" Spivey responded and screwed his eyes in taunting manner. "Though I think she was the first you suspected after that letter incident, no?"

He laughed and Chip answered with tooth-grinding.

"Tell me, Spivey, when did this idea occur to you? Before our conversation about the Foundation or after it?"

"Before. Though I must say that your reaction gave me additional confidence in the overall success, and it indeed played well."

Chip cast his eyes down for a moment. "You just got lucky. I was a blind fool then and didn't know what I was doing."

"Too bad it's too late to admit it."

"No, Spivey, it's too early for you to celebrate," Chip said through set teeth, knowing it's time to use heavy artillery. "Millie knows that Mouise Bucksup is involved, that she wants her husband dead and that it was her who stole my letters. How much did she offer you? Half of the fortune? Or just a tiny bit of it?"

This time both Turkle and Mitchell looked at their boss questioningly. "That's a good question, boss―"

Spivey reacted instantly. "Shut up, Turkle! And you, Mitch, don't stare like wolf at me! Once again, everything he's saying now is aimed at driving a wedge between us and luring one of us to his side! You are fools if you think that it will help you to evade responsibility! Not to mention that you won't get any money at all! Is it clear?!"

"Clear, boss…" the nurseman and the orderly looked aside and the incoming riot was checked in the bud.

"Good!" Spivey smiled, self-satisfied, and his words were supported with loud paw-clapping.

"Bravo, doctor!" Mouise said when she finished applauding. "I knew you are smart enough not to chase a pound of cheese in the bush having a quarter in your hand already. Yes-yes, a quarter!" she repeated answering the wide-eyed stares of Spivey's accomplices. "Even divided into three parts it's more than you'll be able to spend in your entire life!"

Chip cracked a spiteful smile. "I'm afraid you underestimate our dear Kurt. He's a famous player and will quickly find himself up on the gum tree. And then what, Kurt? Will you come to ask for more? Will you beg, bow or scrape? Or start blackmailing right away?"

The actress slowly turned to Spivey and the air in the room became too cold even by December standards.

"Doctor Spivey, me and you―" she hissed, but then Spivey laughed loudly and everybody calmed down.

"Good move, Chip!" the hamster said turning to the sullen Ranger. "But I'm afraid, this you strike misses the mark, too! Don't try your tricks, they are too logic and thus predictable! Me and Mrs. Bucksup settled everything long time ago, not to mention that I'm still the San-Angeles Project curator, and that's quite a responsible and well-paid post, and I plan to stand him for quite a while! So this is not the end our cooperation, far from it!"

Chip smiled. "Yeah, the union between the spider and the snake! Both poisonous and very dangerous! Beware your partner, Kurt, for the make-up suits her too well and her bites are fast and deadly! Tell me, Mrs. Bucksup, do you always carry a syringe in your sleeve, or you do it only on big holidays and to the secret meetings?"

Mouise winced.

"Syringe? No, Mister Chip, it's vulgar and dangerous! As for me, I prefer beauty and comfort!" She extended her right hand and spread her fingers wide apart. They were decorated with elegant false nails, one of which was slightly larger than the others.

"Stunning manicure," Chip commented.

"Thank you. That's for self-defense."

"From whom? Sick husbands? Or crippled chipmunks?"

"No, of course not! Mainly from too annoying fans. The latest Hillywood fashion rage, many actresses use them, non-officially that is. The drug acts quickly and swiftly but generally harmless. Just about half an hour of deep sleep."

"And no peripheral shock, yes, Kurt?" Leader of Rescue Rangers winked at the doctor. "You made this term up right there?"

"Well, actually, yes."

"You are a walking treasure I must say! Fantastic reaction. Came up with a suitable explanation, quickly urged everybody out so that no one would see you administering Mister Harold another portion of your poison. I doubt you carried the syringe with that non-benzodiazepine in your pocket just in case, which means that it was already there. Probably in the bedside table, amidst the other bottles with ordinary medicines, where you kept it in order not to go to the hospital storage every time. The obviousness disguise, albeit the risky one."

"Risky," Spivey bowed slightly again, admitting Chip's correctness. "But you can't go anywhere without taking reasonable risks."

"Reasonable, you say? Oh, yeah, right, that's why you didn't dare to make your injections in the presence of orderlies on watch. Waited for the dust to settle? Sure you did. I would have, too. After all, there's no need to take risks when everything's under control. Too bad Mister Harold regained consciousness so unexpectedly fast. Mrs. Bucksup, for example, was so shocked with it she almost gave herself and your whole gang away. She was careless, but sincere. I think it was the only time she was sincere…"

Mouise vouchsafed Rescue Ranger with crooked smile. Chip went on.

"But your swiftness of reaction matches Kurt's. 'Now or never' ― that's your motto? You followed it in the ward when your husband was going to tell me about the Foundation. You followed it earlier, when he just announced its creation. Why does it scare you so much? You would become the Chairman of the Council of Trustees and would still administrate your husband's fortune…"

"I don't want to administrate it!" the actress shouted loudly making Spivey standing next to her recoil. "I want to _own_ it!"

"And you need no Council for this."

"Yes! I'll decide what to spend my money for!"

"I suspect your plans don't include the new hospital in San-Angeles," Chip didn't ask but stated, remembering Spivey's words about staying the project curator for 'quite a while'.

"One more hospital?" Mrs. Bucksup was astonished. "What are you talking about? So big costs, so little benefits…"

"Yes, one doctor is much cheaper, not to mention it's very convenient to blame him if the questions arise. So as soon as your husband announced its creation, you realized his time had run out, yes? Think about it, Spivey! If she did it to someone who gave her everything you could dream of, what can she do with a simple executor like you?"

But this lunge, too, caused nothing but a hamster's smile.

"Stop doing this tricks, Chip! According to your logic, I also gave Mrs. Mouise something she had always dreamt of ― the right and ability to master her husbands immense fortune. And that's more then just a lot of money. It's―"

"Power!" the actress finished for him.

"See, Chip? So please, stop your humble attempts and this clutching at straws. You are a worthy opponent, so accept your defeat with no unneeded fuss."

"No unneeded fuss…" Chip repeated after him and grinned. "That must be your motto, Kurt. I assume that's what you told Mrs. Mouise, whose motto is 'now or never', or rather, 'everything at once and lots of it', when she asked you why hadn't you killed her husband in the ward right after the interrogation. After all, it was a perfect opportunity. A ball of air, _accidentally_ left in the needle ― and we've got a heart attack, caused by curios and restless detective who badly abused his position…"

The whirlwind of emotions on Mouise's face showed that she indeed had a conversation concerning this question with doctor Spivey. Turkle and Mitchell found Chip's words interesting, too, and looked at their boss inquiringly. Once again, the hamster showed no sign of trouble.

"You are absolutely right about opportunity and means," he said in the same didactic tone he used to convince Mildred to give up the idea of using cordiamizol. "But you forgot one little nitpick. If Harold Bucksup had died then, the posthumous blood analysis would have shown the presence of fast-acting tranquilizer, and the body examination would have revealed a small scratch on his paw, right where Mrs. Mouise held him.

"As a result, there would have been too many unneeded questions with embarrassing answers. But this way, my way, everything ended up neatly and with no extra sutures. Even Mrs. Bucksup agreed I acted in the only right way, didn't you?"

The actress opened her mouse but Chip spoke again.

"Oh, I don't doubt that for a second! You know how to persuade, Kurt, but I doubt you told her how easily you could have forged the results of chemical analysis. You are the head of Pharmacology section; you certainly know that the analyzer stores the results of all previous analyses and the data about analyzed substances. You could have told the machine to re-analyze one of the previous Mr. Harold's blood samples and present it as the new one.

"But you didn't do it. Why? Maybe you were so addicted to your plan that didn't even think about it? Or maybe, you couldn't bring yourself to do it? Slow poisoning of the patient with the sedative administered by your accomplices is one thing, but doing it yourself, standing face to face with the victim, even unconscious one, but so close and real, when you can see each and every hair on his face, is absolutely another. And you couldn't do it."

He fell silent, allowing Spivey and others to digest everything he just said. They did it fairly quickly, and the looks of sweating Turkle, shaking Mitchell and frowned Mouise showed that the question of why they weren't among the richest rodents in the country yet really bothered them.

But Spivey withstood even that. Not a single hair moved on his face, and Chip had to admit he was dealing with very good poker player who knows how to play with the highest stakes. The only thing he could lose to was his own ardor, but not the lack of skill.

"Mister Chip, it won't help you. Your mind is sharp, and someone can consider your words the acme of intuition and intellect." The doctor glanced coldly at his accomplices and once again turned the psychological situation carefully built by Chip into his favor, making them feel themselves lured into a trap. When they settled down a bit, he went on.

"But the problem is that post factum all of us are quick-witted. And you are, too, 'cause otherwise we'd be sitting at the wall in the hospital hall now, guarded, and you'd be addressing the audience. But as you can see, we've got the opposite situation, and you are sitting on the floor, driven into the corner and hoping in vain for the cavalry to come from beyond the hills. But in this episode it won't arrive, because it's not a western but a game, and you lost it."

"No, Kurt!" chipmunk shook his head. "It's you who lost here! Soon everybody will know about Mrs. Bucksup's involvement and she'll throw all her crimes on you. You know better than me that she doesn't lack insidiousness."

"Chip, dear," Spivey through up his hands in mocking desperation. "You speak so confidently it's painful for me to dissuade you. But I have to; after all, the doctor must tell his patients the truth. Do you really think that someone will believe Millie after everything she did to you?"

The Ranger grew alarmed. "What do you mean, Kurt?"

"I mean your murder she committed out of jealousy to your friend… How was it written, Mitchell?"

"My dear Gadget…" the nurseman said dreamingly and even closed his eyes, tasting each sound.

"Don't dare you to say her name!" Chip tried to get up but Turkle sent him back with a quick blow. "You… You are unworthy of it!"

"Easy, detective," the hamster instructed him, "or, heaven forbid, you'll break something else! In case you forgot somehow I'll remind you that it was you and only you who uncovered Nurse Munkched's crime and pressed for her banishment from the hospital. And she avenged you. And if she is stupid enough to rise a commotion, everybody will know that the poor lass is insane and paranoid, which explains her inclination to blame her own sins on everyone else, from the orderlies and nursemen to deputy head of the SCH and the grieving widow of the greatest patron of our time. How do you like my diagnosis?"

"My friends won't buy it!" Chip said as confidently as before, albeit after a brief pause. "Millie will contact them and…"

"Who them? Your friends? I doubt it, I really doubt it. First, we know that your friends plan to return here on the twenty third because this was the date they spoke about while arranging the terms of your staying here. And from their latest letter we know that they went to that volcano of yours and are inaccessible for the ordinary mail. Sure, she can send the letter to this, erhm, how was it?"

"Surabaya," Mitchell prompted.

"Thanks. Yes, to Surabaya. But her letter won't get there, trust me."

"Oh really?" Chip asked with undisguised jeer. "And how will you do it? Send Mitchell opening all mailboxes in the city? Well, good luck to him and his wire-cut hook. He'll need it badly for the mailboxes in the city, unlike the hospital ones, are well guarded. But diligence is the mother of all, so…"

"But how he knows?" asked bewildered nurseman.

"He's got a sick feeling!" Spivey answered angrily. "Applied process of elimination, remembered your criminal past and concluded that there's no one more suitable for this role since me and Mrs. Bucksup wouldn't stoop to it and Turkle is as useful for this gentle operation as the sledgehammer for curing migraine. Very simple, or, like Sureluck Jones always put it, elementary! Right, Chip?"

Rescue Ranger ignored his question. Mitchell was still bewildered and Chip decided to press him further.

"So that's how it happens, Mitch? From the simple and unneeded street mouse who forced mailboxes at night in search of parcels with worn things for poor relatives or letters dropped along with payment to the respected ambulance nurseman. You've come a long way, it would be painful to lose everything now…"

But this time his attempt to unbalance Mitchell had the opposite result. His confusion vanished and he bristled up.

"Shut up!" he clenched his fists. "Looking for a friend, yes?! You won't find one here!"

Spivey smiled placidly, watching Chip's futile attempts to hide his embarrassment under the mask of confidence. "Looks like you underestimated our mutual friend Mitchell, Chip. He's not as simple as he sometimes seems. True, sometimes he causes more harm then good, but he has something you can't shake with the most generous promises. He's working not just for money but for the ideals, too!"

"Ideals?" Chip's brows started to raise but he quickly regained his senses and unnerved tone. "And what Harold Bucksup the Third did to _you_? That's because of him you are now here and not on some dump…"

"I don't care about Harold Bucksup the Third!" Mitchell shouted. "YOU are my problem!"

"ME?!" Chip was so astounded he didn't even try to cover it. "I don't remember having… You are a relative of Arnold Mousenegger? Or Bubbles?"

"I have no idea who's that! And don't pretend you don't understand! She'll be mine! Mine!"

"She? Who's 'she'―" Chip froze. Slowly his fur stood on its ends, and his eyes became red like those of the albinos. "YOU MEAN GADGET?!"

Mitchell grinned broadly. "Surely not the nurse! Female chipmunks aren't to my taste, you know…"

"SHE'LL NEVER BE YOURS!!!" Chip exploded. "She won't look twice at the scoundrel like you!"

"We'll see…" the dreaming expression returned to nurseman's face and he licked his upper lip with his tongue. "She hasn't paid attention to me all this time, but now I think I'll find an approach to her. I will have no competitor and lots of money, plus I have some experience on the matter…"

"OVER MY DEAD BODY ONLY!"

Chip jumped up but screamed with pain and fell on his right side.

"Does your leg hurts?" nurseman taunted him. "Have a little patience, it will end soon!"

"You will… end soon…" chipmunk hissed and sat up again. "Millie will find a way to contact my friends! She'll smart and persistent, and you won't stop her!"

"We _personally _probably won't," Spivey agreed. "But the tropical storm moving towards Indonesia right now probably would. All flights in that direction are being cancelled, not to mention that our dear Mrs. Bucksup has some connections in the local post office.

Actress nodded with a smile.

"So that's how you did it," Chip observed.

"Did what?"

"Letters from your husband to his former wife and vice versa."

"Oh, I see!" the actress laughed. "Yes, it cost me some…"

"But why? You were afraid of Harold returning to her? Don't answer, it's understood. It's always scary to bid farewell to the money already considered your own…"

"Wouldn't you be afraid, Mister Rescue Ranger?!" the transition from smiling to shouting was so abrupt everybody twitched. "Do you know what poverty means?! What misery is?! How real hunger feels?! And _I_ know! I went through it and much more! But the most horrible was disdain! Disgust of those richer than you for whom you are an insect! Scorn of other actors because you are more talented then all of them combined! Every day, year after year! Do you know how it feels? NO! YOU KNOW NOTHING!!!"

Chip waited until the final echoes of her scream faded away, and then spoke slowly.

"You know, Mouise, yesterday I would have pitied you. But not now. Not after everything you've done to the loving husband and to Millie who sincerely wanted to help him and wished everybody only good. Now, Mrs. Stretcher, and I say Stretcher because you aren't worthy of Mister Harold's surname, I know why you managed to play salamander so well. Because it's in your blood. You are a reptile, a snake. A snake cherished on the bosom, that's all."

"SHUT UP!!!"

Enraged actress dashed to Chip but Spivey grabbed her by the elbow.

"Don't bother, my dear. It's nothing more than a brave face on a sorry business. Your provoking is useless, Chip, I say it as an experienced player. Your hand is empty while we have all aces."

"We'll see what you'll sing when my friends get you! All of you!"

"I wouldn't have counted on that, Chip. You see, by the time your friends come back here the proof of Millie's murdering you will be stone solid, and she'll spend many 'pleasant' minutes speaking with them. And if jealousy seems not solid enough for a motive, I'll 'discover' some very interesting invoices signed by Nurse Mildred and showing that she was selling some medicines, mostly those causing addictions of a certain kind. I'm amateur, but I think it's very serious. What will you, the professional, say?"

"That you are a monster, Kurt."

"No, Chip. I'm a player used to calculate everything beforehand. That's why if I were our dear Millie I would have run from other Rescue Rangers at full speed. Though I must admit I'd prefer to deal with her before your friends' arrival. Just in case, you know. No body, no killer, no Harold Bucksup the Third, who'll be mourned by all the rodents in the city. Just like you. Don't worry, the burial will be held by the highest standards, with flowers, speeches, ears. Sure it's a great pity to make such a beautiful girl as Master Gadget cry, but," the hamster nodded at Mitchell's direction, "something tells me there will be someone to console her."

The nurseman smiled dreamingly. "I'll do my best!"

"YOU ARE DEAD, HEAR THAT?!!" Chip yelled jumping up again. This time he didn't fell but the leg prevented him from jumping and Turkle had time to react and hit him, throwing him to the gurney in the corner.

"You are finished… finished…" chipmunk repeated, rubbing the blood off his lips. "You'll answer for everything. For everyone. For Millie, Mister Harold, Washy… For Gadget… For everyone…"

"You forgot yourself, lover hero!" the orderly laughed.

"I knew you'd never understand it, Turkle."

Spivey watched Chip for some time, than clapped his paws a few times. "You are really great, Chip. You are holding very well, and I salute you. But even the biggest dropper runs out. Don't worry about Millie, they'll found her, and by 'them' I mean not only my companions, for Mrs. Mouise will pay generously for any information about the main suspect in the case of missing leader of Rescue Rangers. She has nowhere to run. But I think it's safe to assume that we'll find her somewhere in the city park, not far away from the Fifth police precinct―"

At that moment Chip…

No, he didn't jumped up on the doctor or the actress, didn't try to smash them with the gurney. He didn't even try to run away. He got up slowly, leaning on the gurney, and laughed loudly. His bloodstained lips hurt and he winced from time to time, but he went on laughing like never before.

"Oh, Chip, please," Spivey said sympathetically. "Don't degrade into hysterics. I know it's hard to lose your only hope, but―"

"Kurt, you are fool…" Chip answered through the laughter. "The biggest fool… The greatest fool…"

Doctor stopped smiling and frowned.

"I don't understand you, patient, please describe your symptoms in more details!"

"Oh boy… Ha-ha-ha! Oh, I can't stand it! Criminals… Schemers…"

"Boss, I think he's gone nuts…" Mitchell said, twisting his finger against his temple.

"He's playing fool!" Turkle roared rolling up his sleeves. "Give me five minutes, I'll make him…"

"No, Turkle!" Spivey ordered. "This case is different! Let's hear him out!"

"Thanks for caring, good doctor!" Chip waved his paw to show gratitude. "You are masters, masters… Ha-ha-ha! They took everything into account, predicted everything, and at the same time… Oh, my sides will split now… And at the same time they… They _seriously_ think that Millie is stupid enough to go to the city park where she'll be searched for in the first place! Ha-ha-ha! Great plan! Get to the park, find the highest tree on the alley in front of the police precinct, climb up on the wide branch facing north and spend a long-long-long-long time knocking at the locked doors and windows made from thick glass! You'd do just that, I know! Send Turkle in, he'd make it in a week or so…"

Turkle cracked his knuckles, but Chip paid no attention at all.

"No, I know! You'd push him into the ventilation shaft hidden behind the panel resembling the tree's bark. It's not too high, just about two feet above the thickest root. It leads to our garage and I would pay any money to see him appearing there, shaped like a long rectangular sausage! Ha-ha-ha! On the other hand, that's the only way for him to climb up the narrow stairs to the door and go down after wasting some time with the digital lock hidden behind the secret panel to the right of it. The code consists of eight digits, like a date, you know, and that's one hundred of millions of combinations so yes, he'll waste millennium there… But suppose she got into headquarters! Then what? Hide in a wardrobe and sit there for four days, twitching at each and every sound? Great idea, ha-ha-ha! Oh, shoot, ha-ha-ha! You know… You know, she's smarter than all four of you combined, so don't hope she'll do stupid things like this one! She'll hide where you _least_ expect her to hide, and where you'll never find her! Never! Never! Ha-ha-ha-ha!"

Exhausted Rescue Ranger stopped talking but went on laughing. Spivey sighed looking at hysteric chipmunk.

"Let it be, Mister Chip. You are probably right. But if there's one sure thing in this story, it's that nobody will ever find _you_. Turkle, Mitchell! Injection!"

The orderly carefully approached Chip, grabbed him with a worked out movement and pressed to the gurney. Rescue Ranger didn't try to free himself, either indeed insane or totally dispirited. In any case he just twitched slightly when the needle pierced his skin slightly below his shoulder, and soon went limp. Turkle and Mitchell put him on the gurney, tightened up the belts, covered him with bedsheet and drove out of the room. The hamster and the actress went after them and soon the unfinished library was silent as before.

But only for five minutes, after which the tarpaulin not far from the smashed doors moved and first the hands covered with construction dust appeared from under it, then disheveled brown hair densely covered with slivers, and finally the face of Mildred Munkched, striped with whitish tear runs.

Several times she was close to throwing her cover off and jumping on the criminals tormenting Chip, but every time she remembered her promise and shut her eyes tightly. She would close her ears, too, if she could, unable to stand those horrors. But she couldn't, for it was her task to lie down there, not moving nor making any sound, and hear everything to the last word. And so she listened. Thought about the stone wall and listened.

"I won't fail you, Chip!" she whispered, casting her final glance at the door. Then she climbed up the trestles still standing at the window and vanished in the dark of night.

---

"…_I want you to promise to do everything I'll ask you to. Word for word. It's very important. Promise?"_

---

City Park.

The highest tree on the alley in front of the police precinct.

The ventilation shaft hidden behind the panel resembling the tree's bark, just about two feet above the thickest root.

The secret panel to the right of the door.

Four days.

---

"_I promise…"_

---


	10. Chapter 10 Farewells and Welcome Backs

**Chapter ****10**

**Farewells and Welcome Backs**

*** 1 ***

_December 20__th__, morning_

From the middle of the night the sky was covered with low thick clouds arrived from the ocean, and soon after the dawn drizzling rain started falling. People hurrying on their business clenched the collars of their coats tighter and hastened their pace hoping to get to their bureaus and offices before the heavens opened fully. They were too preoccupied with the sky to look underfoot and pay attention to the rodents who left their holes early in the morning and either singly or in groups headed towards the Central City Hospital. Not to the auxiliary building, though, but to the crematorium behind it, where Harold Bucksup III was lying in repose and where his mortal remains would be committed to the flames. Only a few of rodents were honored with this ceremony, and this one deserved it like no one else.

Those wishing to bid farewell to the patron started to arrive long before the preset time. By the time the coffin brought by electrocar twined with funeral ribbons was moved to the platform decorated with flower petals the whole crowd had gathered in the hall. The personnel and patients of the Small Central Hospital stood bareheaded in semi-circle in front of the coffin, glancing time and again at Mouise Bucksup.

The patron's widow was sitting on the tribune arranged on the human chair moved towards the incinerator. She said nothing, only nodded answering quiet words of Perry Nutson who had been holding her hand from the start. Doctor Stone and Doctor Spivey were also there, offering their silent consolations to the actress. Her grief-distorted face seemed perfectly white against the black dress and many spectators sincerely doubted her ability to bear the whole ceremony. Different things happened in the past, but the immediate presence of first-class doctors along with the electrocar parked under the chair which carried full set of first aid means including mini-defibrillator was reassuring.

A tall grey-haired mouse-priest radiated calm and assurance, too. He was standing right in front of the tribune on the pedestal of the same height. It was built on the opposite side of the conveyor belt leading to the incinerator, along which Harold Bucksup III would pass his last earthly feet.

The priest glanced at the clock, adjusted his glasses and opened the book, prompting everyone to keep silence.

"Brothers and sisters. Relatives and friends of the family. Workers of Small Central Hospital. Fellow mourners.

"We gathered here today to bid our final farewell to Harold Bucksup the Third, dear to our hearts and our memory. We gathered here today to bestow final honors to the great personality, respected member of our community and prominent benefactor who sacrificed his fortune, his health and his life to the altar of caring of his neighbors…"

The priest didn't have to explain anything. Every single rodent who came here today understood him at once. They all knew Mister Harold's diagnosis with which he was hospitalized and which could be read in the death certificate signed by Doctor Kurt Spivey. Nevertheless, when at noon on December 19th the medical equipment stopped registering his heart activity and the strident trill of the alarm filled the ward, those present and those who knew the news later felt their hearts sank. And even an ordinary earthquake, no more than 4 points according to Richter scale of magnitude, which happened in the morning of that day, now looked nothing else but a grim omen. It happens like that when the titans pass away.

"…Now, on this mournful minute, let us remember all the good things Harold Bucksup the Third brought into this world, and let us honor his gratuitous service, selflessness and dedication, unknown before and unmatched henceforth.

"The earthly way of Harold was thorny and tortuous, and at times came close to the very edge of the abyss, but its end deserves respect only…"

This phrase couldn't be understood ambiguously, too, for the story of the Cola Cult became widely known and drew a wide response. So there was no surprise that almost everybody shoot an involuntary glance at the old man at the foot of the tribune, tall and thin as a rake. Very few of those present could give his detailed description from memory, and even fewer knew his real name. But the moment he appeared in the hall everybody recognized his customary thimble hat with a red feather and remembered his pseudonym, Pop Top, which became a common noun and a synonym of lost and renewed faith.

"…Thus, brothers and sisters, we commend Harold's soul to almighty Lord, and let us praise Him for sending Harold saviors who in due time freed him from fetters of sins and lies. Let us pray the Lord for safe returning of Chip the Rescue Ranger whose thoughts are pure, trade is noble, and the fate is in Lord's hands like of every one of us…"

Neither priest's words, nor reactions of Mouise and the heads of SCH to them were surprising. The actress shook and covered her face with handkerchief, while Stone and Spivey darkened even more and lowered their eyes. Many spectators followed their example, for if passing of Harold Bucksup was hard but still anticipated loss, the mysterious disappearance of leader of the Rescue Rangers was shocking while the circumstances of it ― totally depressing.

Chip vanished suddenly and without a trace. One could only guess what he wanted to tell Mrs. Mouise on the night he was seen for the last time. The fact that he didn't sign the note to her with his name showed that he knew about the danger, and the books and his wheelchair's engine found on the roof shortly thereafter ― that he took all the precautions. But even that turned out not enough since he never came to the gates where the actress was waiting.

There were several versions at first, among them involvement of well-known crimelords whose plans Chip and his team had ruined. But then the case got an unexpected twist. The ambulance team sent after Nurse Munkched who had been fired on the previous day, found Washy, the hospital janitor. He was lying in the runoff ditch at the bus stop near her home warehouse, violently beaten and unconscious. He was immediately delivered to the hospital and put into the reanimation, but his condition was critical and he couldn't tell anything about that night's events.

But then nurseman Mitchell made even more horrible discovery. While searching Nurse Mildred's apartment he accidentally found Chip's hat hidden under the mattress and a syringe full of pentobarbital on the bedside table. The analysis Doctor Spivey conducted showed that the dark spots on the hat were nothing else but dried blood, and the case grew even more sinister coloring. Miss Munkched's neighbors said they had heard shouts and fighting sounds at night. Most probably, it was the fight during which Washy was hurt, but they didn't know who else was involved. Miss Munkched probably knew it, but she vanished without a trace. All of this in combination with the conflict between her and Chip and the farewell letter she left indicated that she was directly involved if not outward guilty. No wonder that Mrs. Bucksup immediately announced that she would pay huge sum for any information about former nurse's or Chip's location. But even that hasn't yielded any results yet and like it or not, the fear of something fatal having happened began to form.

"…I ask you, brothers and sisters, regardless of your beliefs and faiths, to remember the life of late Harold Bucksup the Third with gratitude and not let the memory of him fade away. I ask you to pray for successful outcome of all the charity initiatives he started and was about to start, and I ask our Lord to help his faithful and loving wife finish everything he didn't have time to finish. Let the example of Harold Bucksup the Third serve the source of inspiration for us and our children and their children, and I ask you to prove with your everyday deeds and thoughts that the ideas and ideals Harold Bucksup preached and practiced won't leave with him but stay here to live among us forever. Amen."

The priest closed his book and six members of the funeral crew with black bands on their sleeves stepped to the coffin. One of them, ambulance nurseman Mitchell, pressed the button on the rodent-sized console on the corner stand of conveyer belt, and the floor slab with 'scissors' type elevating mechanism under it started moving slowly upwards. Reaching the top of the belt it stopped, and the crew with visible efforts moved the coffin onto the conveyer. As soon as they did it, Mouise Bucksup stood up and came to the edge of the tribune. She took hold of the railings and looked over the hall, then blotted her tears with Mr. Nutson's handkerchief and spoke.

"Thank you all for finding time and coming here today to bid farewell to my husband. Thank you, reverend father, for the wonderful sermon. Thank you, Doctor Stone and Doctor Spivey, for fighting to save Hal's life to the end and for helping to arrange the ceremony by the highest standards. You know…"

Her voice trembled and she started breathing heavily. Nutson was about to run to her but he motioned that everything was alright and went on.

"No, it's okay… I wanted to say, that I still don't believe that he's gone, that he's left us and left me. He was more than a loving and caring husband for me. He was… He was like a second father to me. He made me the person I am today, he did everything, everything… Oh my gosh…" She covered her face with her paws and nobody in the hall was able to hold back the tears watching this beautiful slender female in black, whose screen image radiated happiness but now was the epitome of endless grief.

"He― He really made so much that― that it's impossible to describe in full. And he wanted to do much, much more than that, and he could do it but― This is… I think you'll agree with me that it's wrong and it shouldn't be. That Hal shouldn't have left without finishing what he began to do. It's― It's a hard, irreplaceable loss, but we― we mustn't give up. Hal wouldn't understand or forgive us if we did. That's why I'm grateful to you, reverend, for your call and your request for us all to pray Lord to give me the strength to do what Hal didn't. And I pray for it, too."

She paused for a second and when she spoke again there was great determination in her voice which her frail frame seemed to simply lack space for after all those worries and sufferings.

"I also pray and ask all of you to pray for Chip, the bravest and the cleverest chipmunk I knew. I hope he's okay and I will have an opportunity to apologize for being rude to him on some occasions. I know he worried about Harold and wanted to do him only good and was ready to risk his own life to help him. I hope very, very much that he'll return safe and sound and will tell us who was behind all those mysterious happenings he happened to investigate and succeeded while doing so. That is, I'm sure he succeeded because there must have been a reason for him wanting to meet me on that night. I know, I feel he found something out and I would give away everything I have to know what it was, and to have him here, among us today. I know, Hal would have done the same…"

Mouise inhaled deeply and looked at the coffin and the funeral crew waiting silently.

"Hal, my love… Good-bye, Hal. We'll miss you. I'll miss― I will…"

She sobbed several times, cast her final glance at her husband in the coffin and sat down, immediately bursting into tears. Perry Nutson hugged her closely, and Willis, the funeral crew leader, waved to Turkle and Garding standing on the main console. Together two orderlies pressed tight button and turned the conveyor belt on. The coffin and six rodents started moving. When they reached the middle of the belt, the orderlies pressed another button opening heavy lid of gas incinerator, the black maw of which made the members of the funeral crew look like insects surrounding the matchbox.

It remained only to carry the coffin inside and turn the incinerator on; the rest will be done automatically. The lid will close, the gas will hiss, the burners will hoot. The coffin, huge by rodent standards, was no more than a sliver for this powerful incinerator, and everything will end very fast. And when the incinerator cools off, the funeral crew will carefully gather Mister Harold's ashes into the special urn and hand it to Mrs. Mouise who, according to her husband's will, will scatter it from the roof of the highest skyscraper in the city.

"Oh my gosh, Hal!" Mouise screamed when the crew closed the coffin lid and brought it into the incinerator. The actress ran to the railings, staggered and seized it in order not to fall down. Mister Nutson thought his client swooned and raced to her. She never fell down, though. She froze instead, looking at the window on the opposite wall. That is, at the place where previously had been a window, now smashed by the incoming two-engine brown and orange plane.

Making a circle around the hall, the plane landed on the middle of the conveyor belt and the passengers rapidly got out. They were large Australian muscle mouse, disheveled chipmunk in red sweater with yellow stars, blonde mouse in blue overalls, green fly wearing red shirt and brown-haired female chipmunk in rumpled hospital gown.

The audience sighed. "Rescue Rangers…"

It was them indeed. Dale and Monty dashed to the funeral crew, Zipper flew towards main console, Gadget stood up next to the Ranger Wing's harpoon gun and the female chipmunk ran to the edge of the conveyor belt.

"HOLD ON! ATTENTION, PLEASE!" she shouted. It was actually unneeded since everybody watched her already.

"IT'S MILDRED MUNKCHED!" Moise's scream was deafening against the surrounding silence. "WHY ARE YOU STANDING?! GET HER! SHE'S THE KILLER! SHE'S―"

She didn't finish. The arrow shot by Gadget whistled right over her ear. The actress froze, her mouth wide opened, while Gadget quickly get to the tribune via the rope, grabbed stunned Doctor Spivey by his collar and pushed him towards his accomplice.

"Why? What?" Spivey asked but then another loud screams sounded through the hall.

"Hey!" Mitchell yelled, grabbed and pressed to the wall by Dale and Monty, who also twisted his arms. "Easy! What are you doing?! Guys, help―"

"SHUT UP!" the munk and the mouse snarled at him simultaneously. Then Aussie turned to the other members of the funeral crew who stood around the coffin not knowing what to do.

"Try to free 'im, you'll deal with me!" he threatened.

Five medical workers exchanged glances and stepped back, nodding. They didn't understand what this was about but knew that Rescue Rangers do nothing without purpose and hindering their work was more trouble than it was worth.

Garding knew it, too, but still didn't quite believe what Zipper was buzzing him.

"What?" he asked, glancing at Turkle who perked up his ears immediately. "Him? But why…?"

"Master Gadget, what's going on?!" bewildered Stone asked the inventor. "Why are you seizing my colleagues while the criminal Mildred Munkched is walking around freely?!"

"Because she isn't criminal!" Gadget shouted loudly for everyone to hear, and Millie added:

"I'm not a criminal! Mouise Stretcher is the criminal!"

"WHAT?!" the actress screamed. "How dares she?! How can she blame me after everything she's done?!"

"Yes, yes!" Spivey nodded. "I don't know what nonsense she told you but we have solid proof that…"

"Shut up, Spivey!!!" Gadget yelled at him. "We know everything! We know about your poker debts and that Mouise promised to pay you, Mitchell and Turkle one quarter of the Bucksups' fortune if you kill her husband!"

"What?!" Now was Mr. Nutson's turn to take offense. "It's preposterous! I demand that you immediately apologize to my client for these dirty insinuations!"

"Master Gadget, what are you talking about?" pale Spivey babbled. "Miss Munkched told you this? She's crazy! She's…"

A loud shout came from the main console "STOP, TURKLE!" It was Garding who was desperately holding Turkle's elbow to keep him from jumping at the last red button which activated the incinerator.

"Boy, time for me to go!" Monty said and ran to the edge of the conveyer, taking mini-launcher off his belt on the run. He shot the arrow into the ceiling and jumped over to the console where Garding and Zipper were barely holding Turkle off the button. Seeing the weighty reinforcements his enemies received, Turkle knew it's time to leave. He drove Garding into a wall and waved Zipper off so fiercely he flew away into the crowd, then ran towards the ladders set to the console. Monty followed him close but Turkle was still first to get down to the ground and kicked the ladder from under the Aussie who fell to the ground on his face and was out of the game for some time.

The audience gasped, Dale twitched feeling something was wrong and Mitchell, inspired with his accomplice's heroic example, seized the moment. He began by stepping on Ranger's foot and when Dale screamed with pain punched him into the chest with his elbow and dashed trying to free himself. But while the chipmunk holding him didn't excel at size, he was much serious opponent than one could imagine. The loosely hanging sweater covered well-developed abs and biceps which allowed Dale to withstand the blow and smash the gangster against the wall making it cave in.

"Lie still or I'll get tough!" he hissed into Mitchell's ear. The nurseman sank down on the floor, too stunned to answer anything. Knowing it was temporary Dale tied his enemy's hands with his own funeral band, laid nurseman down on the chest and pressed his knee between Mitchell's shoulder blades so that he won't even think about running. Mitchell obeyed and didn't.

But unlike the nurseman who wasn't going to be a problem in the near future, Turkle was really big one. Making sure the Aussie hit the floor too hard to be a problem, the orderly ran under the conveyer and to the open gates of major tunnel dug by SCH personnel from the auxiliary building to crematorium. That was the way the coffin arrived, and now it was the way the goon intended to use to leave and hide in the labyrinth of underground communications. He was running fast, his speed and, what's more important, size resembling that of an unstoppable cannon ball. Nobody actually was going to stop him considering the health more precious and Turkle felt it.

That's why when the black silhouette appeared on his way seemingly from nowhere, he braked off. Not of fear, obviously, but of pure curiosity. Just to look carefully at the rodent who dared to cross his way before making him bite all the dust from here to the tunnel entrance. But the moment he saw his opponent his curiosity switched into sheer astonishment. His path was blocked by the priest, just some seconds ago standing on his three feet high pedestal.

"Move away, reverend," Turkle ordered. "Or I won't mind your grey hair and cassock!"

"Grey hair and cassock are just a shell, son. Spirit ― that's the key!" the priest answered softly. He took off his glasses and put them and his book on the ground. It was the most expressive invitation possible, and Turkle who already had nothing to lose lunged forward.

The involuntary witnesses of this scene screamed in terror and some females even swooned. But turned out, it wasn't the priest they should have worried about.

When only split inches remained between him and the furious orderly, the priest took a little step to the side, as if letting his opponent pass. But the very next moment he made a quick movement, unseen amidst his cassock's wide sleeves, grabbed one of his enemy's outstretched arms and turned it round abruptly, making the goon to roll over his head and fall down on his back. Not letting Turkle's hand out, the priest took another step to stop behind his head. Still holding orderly's arm with his right hand, the old mouse pressed his left paw against Turkle's elbow, twisting it out and making the orderly to roll onto his breast with a wail of pain. Then the priest pressed goon's elbow to his hip and sat down, making two painful holds on the way.

The orderly yelled louder and attempted to break free, but each movement caused more pain than the previous one. He couldn't reach the priest sitting near his shoulder blades with his legs, so he tried to hit him with his tail. But the reverend saw this action coming and caught Turkle's tail with his own, once again with direct effect on the nerve ending. As a result, it felt like the bus rolled over Turkle's tail.

"A-A-A-A-R-R-R-G-G-G-H-H-H!!!" he yelled. "ENOUGH!!! STOP IT!!! IT HURTS!!! I GIVE UP!!! A-A-R-R-G-G-H-H!!!"

For several seconds the rodents around just stood there looking at the priest and the huge mouse he defeated, then one clap was heard, then another one and soon the audience to the left of the conveyor belt was applauding loudly.

Monterey Jack came up to them, still somewhat dizzy from falling. "Great job, Reverend!" he expressed the common opinion.

"Thank you, son," the priest answered. "But I must say that years take their toll on me and if your help isn't quick enough, you'll have to catch this lost soul for yourself."

"Don't ya worry!" Monty assured him taking a hunk of rope from his belt. He tied Turkle's hands, legs and tail up and when he was sure Turkle could do nothing aside from speaking in very dirty language, the Aussie dusted off and spoke to his unexpected assistant.

"Huge thanks for yer help, Reverend! Sorry that I don't know yer name…"

"Father Scott."

"Monterey Jack. Better just Monty," Rescue Ranger introduced himself shaking the priest's extended hand. The old mouse's paw turned out surprisingly strong, and Monty, accustomed to his handshake causing others to wince, had to wince himself this time.

"You are a bonzer hero, padre Scott!" Monty said and added in a low voice, leaning closely to old mouse's ear. "I bet ya hadn't spent all yer life in the frock, no?"

Scott smiled shortly. "Let's leave the past at peace, son. Besides, we have more vital problems now, first of all concerning your friend."

Monty darkened and nodded. "Too right. But don't ya worry, our lass will take care of it!"

Indeed, as soon as the episodes with Mitchell and Turkle finished, Gadget turned back to the doctor and the actress who looked much less confident than before.

"Looks like your partners' nerves had gone to pieces fairly fast! Let's see how hard yours are! Where is he?! Where's Chip?! Answer, now!!!"

"Miss Hackwrench, please, what― what are you talking about?" Mouise sobbed and clasped her hands in front of her in a praying manner. "Please, it must be misunderstanding―"

"Misunderstanding?!" Gadget's face filled with fiery rage so incompatible with her widely-known kind nature that it was easier to believe that she put on a horrible mask with some unseen movement than it being her real face.

"No, Master!" Spivey objected. "Please! It was Mildred Munkched! It's her, believe us…"

"Yes, believe us, please!" Mouise stepped forward and tried to hold Gadget by her paw. But the mouse inventor suddenly grabbed her by her fingers, twisted them and tore a false nail off the index finger.

"Believe, you say?!" she hissed and pushed the actress back to Spivey, then showed her trophy to Stone and Nutson. "See, Mister Nutson? That's what he did in the ward when Chip asked Mister Harold about the Foundation!"

"How… Wait…" the attorney looked at the nail with a drop of colorless liquid on its tip, then at the Mouise who was on the verge of hysterics. "Mrs. Bucksup, it's…"

"IT'S A LIE!" Mouise shouted. "LIES! IT'S ALL LIES!"

"Darn right!" Gadget exclaimed. "All we've heard yet is lies! It's time to start learning the truth!"

She took the strange device previously hanging on her back. It was obviously based on miniature laser pointer from which only oblong hull and power button remained. The lens was replaced with disk with four metallic pins fixed along its perimeter. The device itself looked rather amusing but in the hands of this furious blonde mouse, imbued with a rigorous beauty of an Amazon warrior nobody would want to have as an enemy, it seemed dug out of the deepest and darkest dungeons of the Inquisition.

"Tell me where Chip is, or I'll turn this thing on!" Gadget ordered. "QUICKLY!!!"

Spivey gulped. "You― you have no right…" he prattled. "It's an outrage…"

"OUTRAGE?!!" mouse yelled. "It's not outrage! Outrage starts NOW!!!"

She pressed the button and disk started rotating. The pins moved faster and faster and soon the air flow they produced made Gadget's hair flapping, which made her look not like the Amazon but like a Valkyrie diving on her victim from above. But the most terrifying part of it was the sparks running between the pins. They grew brighter as the rotation speed increased and the pins along with the device as a whole moved closer towards Spivey and Mouise, who weren't just shaking but rippling already.

"WHERE IS HE?! WHERE?!" Gadget shouted. "WHERE?!"

"In― In-n t-t…" the hamster began, stuttering, watching the approaching pins like an animal at bay. "In th-he c-c-co-co…"

"WHAT IS 'CO'? WHAT THIS 'CO' MEANS? WHAT IS IT?!"

"I KNOW!!!" Mildred shouted suddenly. She still stood on the edge of the belt, forgotten by the audience and having lost any connection with the world around her because of so many events happening so fast and simultaneously. Now she ran to the incinerator, shouting loudly. "HE'S THERE! IN THE COFFIN!!!"

"But Mister Harold is in there…" Willis tried to object but the nurse ignored him.

"Open up!" she demanded. "Now!"

"But…"

"Do what she says!" Dale joined in. "Or else!"

His nod at the knocked out Mitchell was worth a thousand words and members of the funeral crew quickly lifted heavy two-sectioned lid. There was indeed Mister Harold in the coffin. Alone.

"No…" Millie mumbled. "It can't be… It's… Gosh!"

She peeked into the coffin again, then looked at it from aside and screamed.

"Take him out!"

The head of the funeral crew flushed with anger. "WHAT?! Take Mister Harold out?! I want you to know―"

Nobody heard what he wanted because Dale jumped up to him and showed a plunger arrow protruding from the barrel of some strange silver pistol right into his nose.

"DO IT!!! OR I GET ANGRY!!!"

Willis hastily nodded. "Ya… Ad righd… Righd… Gum on! Du bot ge zaz!"

His four assistants ran to carry out the instruction. They surrounded the coffin and lifted the patron who wasn't really slim and turned out too heavy for them. Or, more precise, for the weakest of the four who happened to stand on the right side and, when he tried to get a better grip of Harold's hand, didn't hold him. Harold's body fell down on its right side and a loud crack was heard.

Everybody froze and grew pale, but the crack was coming from the bottom of the coffin which turned out quite thin and moved downwards, into some unforeseen space.

"Oh my…" the nurseman standing at the head of the coffin whispered. "There… It's…"

"Come in! Faster!" Millie ran to the coffin. "Dale! Willis! Help us!" she called. The seven of them easily took Mister Harold out of the coffin and put down on the floor, then Dale ran back and tore off the whole section of the false bottom. Poignant smell hit him in the nose, his vision blurred and he staggered but didn't fall. Willis caught him, looked into the coffin and grew grey. There, on the very bottom, a chipmunk was lying wearing bomber jacket put over hospital pajamas. His eyes were closed, his right foot encrusted into plaster cast and his head and body was densely covered with cotton wool soaked with ammonium to keep from awakening and knocking against the walls.

"OH MY LORD!!!" Willis yelled. "Guys! Come here!!!"

Taking Chip out was easier and harder at the same time. He weighed much less than Harold Bucksup but lied significantly deeper and the medical workers wasted some time in vain attempts before surmising to break the coffin sides down. Throwing cotton wool aside they put Chip down beside Harold Bucksup and Mildred went to work.

"How is he, Millie?" Dale kept asking in shaking voice. "Is he alive? Will he survive? Tell me he'll survive, please! Save him!"

"I'll try, Mister Dale…" the nurse mumbled, being herself on the verge of bursting into tears. She unzipped Chip's jacket and tore the pajamas and pressed her ear to his breast, then tried to find his pulse on his wrists and neck, checked his breath. There were no signs of life.

Gadget turned her weapon off and turned to the incinerator, but only for a second. "HOW IS HE?!" she shouted, still watching Mouise and Spivey closely.

"NOTHING!" Dale answered running to the edge of the furnace. "NOTHING YET, GADGET!!!"

"Golly, golly…" the inventor mumbled.

"It was him!" Mouise pointed at the hamster. "Him and his gang! He knew I'm not very fond of my husband's idea to transfer all our funds into the Foundation and proposed to kill him in exchange for covering his poker debts… He also threatened he'll send his goon after me if I refuse… I was forced to―"

"WHAT?!" Spivey cried. "Don't believe her, Master Gadget! The idea was all hers! Her friends in Vegas told her about my debts and offered me a deal! She give me a quarter of her capital and I kill her husband who, as she put it, spent too much money for this charity and now decided to create the Foundation which wouldn't allow her to own his money after his death! It was her! Believe me!"

Gadget slowly lifted her head and looked at Spivey and Mouise who shrank tenfold under her glare.

"I don't give a darn who bought whom," she said, rapping out each and every word. "You killed him. You killed my Chip. You are dead. Mister Nutson, step away. It will be― It will be an outrage here."

She turned her weapon back on and went to the gang leaders. They started shaking even stronger but it was too late to shake already. Gadget wasn't scaring, she was out for a kill. Spivey was the first to realize it and knowing he's got nothing to lose yelled with all his might to make himself heard through the droning of the weapon.

"STOP!!! LISTEN TO ME!!! WE CAN REANIMATE THEM!!!"

"THEM?!" Gadget stopped the device, astonished. "That is, Harold Bucksup, too?!"

Spivey nodded. "Yes, yes! Him, too! He's alive!"

"ALIVE?!" Doctor Stone jumped up. "How about the death certificate?! What about the equipment readings?!"

"I― I forged everything! I and Turkle forged everything! He just disconnected a couple of wires secretly, when no one was watching, and called me to fill the certificate, and then, after they turned the equipment off, connected the wires back! We just messed with the sensors, I swear! Well, the living processes in his body have almost stopped, that's true, but only― only partially! It's revertible!"

Gadget grabbed him by his collar and pressed her nose to his. "And what about Chip?! Just messed with his sensors, too?!"

"And― Well, we gave him soporifics! Only soporifics and nothing but soporifics! That's what that ammonium cotton was for! They are both alive―"

"GADGET!!!"

Just two minutes ago Dale was shouting while barely holding his tears. Now his shouts were full of joy and hope, and his smile was visible even from the tribune.

"WHAT, DALE?!" the mouse shouted back.

"MILLIE SAYS THERE'S NO CAT'S EYE!"

Gadget didn't get it. "WHAT?"

"The pupil reacts to squeezing!" Spivey explained. "Regains its form! I told you…"

"SHUT UP!" Gadget pushed him to the railing and turned to Stone. "Doctor, I think…"

Head of SCH clearly thought the same.

"GET THEM TO THE ELEVATOR!" he commanded, covering the distance from his seat to the stairwell with one jump and running down along the stairs to the electrocar parked nearby.

"MARTINEZ!" he shouted to the nurseman standing there. "To the elevator! To the elevator! Faster!"

"See! See!" Spivey livened up. "I told you! I'm not a killer! I just―"

Gadget broke him off. "You just injected my friend with soporific drugs and wanted to burn him and Mister Bucksup alive in that oven to let fire make all the dirty work for you, yes?! Go there!" She waved in the direction of the stairs.

"Wh-wh-what for?" the doctor asked glancing at the animals crowded beneath them, whose eyes showed full spectrum of emotions from anger to hatred.

"Show us how big 'not a killer' you are! You'll be helping to revive Chip and Mister Harold! And if even one of them dies, be it from your misadvice or from natural causes, you'll go into that incinerator for yourself! Is it clear?!"

"Yes… Clear… Sure, I'll do everything, tell everything!" Spivey nodded and ran after Stone.

"What about me?" Mouise asked quietly.

"You?" Gadget raised her eyebrow. "You'll stay here watched by Mister Nutson and all the others who wanted to rob!" Inventor pointed at the crowd below. "And pray for them both to survive, or you'll accompany you accomplice there!"

"He's not my accomplice…" the actress started again but Gadget just pushed her down on the nearest seat, handed Nutson her weapon with instruction "if she moves ― you know what to do!" and ran to the elevator.

Stone and Spivey, closely watched by Monty and fully recovered Zipper, were there already. Not far away from them creeping Turkle was gritting his teeth, guarded by Father Scott, soon to be joined by Mitchell, already being escorted down on the elevator. When the platform stopped, Gadget came up to the downcast nurseman and said, looking right into his eyes.

"You know, Mitchell, when Millie told me nurseman Mitchell was involved, I honestly hoped she meant someone else but you."

"Really, Master Gadget?" the male mouse asked, not believing his luck. "You know me? Believe me, I didn't want to―"

"Shut up, Mitchell! I know _everything _about you!" Gadget said and gave him a loud slap in the face. Mitchell sobbed and shrank visibly. He didn't even say anything when the nurseman escorting him pushed him in the right direction and went there obediently, mourning over his shattered dream. Gadget, in turn, ran to the electrocars, the former catafalque and the first aid vessel, on which Chip and Harold Bucksup were being loaded.

"How is he?! How is he?!" she asked Mildred, sitting beside her into the car carrying the chipmunk.

The nurse shrugged. "Nothing yet, Master Gadget! But everything will be alright! He's strong, he'll make it!"

"Oh yes, he's a fighter!" Dale confirmed. Gadget told everybody of his racing skills so he was driving. The second car was driven by Ferdinand Snorkel and there was no doubt that both Chip and Harold would be in the reanimation soon. The electrocars jerked forward and disappeared in the tunnel, followed by anxious stares, wishes of luck and heart-rending scream of Mouise Bucksup whose despair was absolutely sincere now.

"HOW COULD IT HAPPEN?! HOW?! IT'S IMPOSSIBLE…!!!"

*** 2 ***

_December 19__th__, noon (local time)_

"Gadget luv, it's roight incredible!" Monterey Jack exclaimed for the fifth if not tenth time today. He stood on the very edge of a broad ledge which protruded from the slope of Semeru Volcano and looked around, astonished, at the wide valley approximately 2 miles below.

On Java rain seasons lasted from November till April, but they didn't meant suppression of nature with heavy unstopping downpours. On the contrary, during this period the island's flora received its second wind, as well as the reserve of water and fragrance for the whole upcoming season of summer draughts. As a rule it rained just before dawn, and there was no better accompaniment to morning dreams then regular tapping of drops against the tent walls. Everything from nature to weather favored pleasant limpness and refreshing rest after which any work is not a burden but joy. At least, it should have been so.

"You've said that already today, Monty!" Gadget answered with irritation. She paused to check again if she followed the scheme of building automatic remote controlled tripod. Everything seemed okay but as it usually happened after completion several extra parts were found and the mouse couldn't understand whether they belonged to this device or she just brought something unneeded from the HQ, growing more and more nervous with each failed attempt to fit them somewhere.

The Aussie wasn't going to back off, though. "And I'll repeat them fo' as many times more! The place is ideal! My daddy is bonzer mountaineer, but even he wouldn't find a better spot! You've got a scent for perfect camp sites, lass! Or was it another prophetic dream, no?"

"Drop it, Monty!" Gadget waved off and returned to roaming through the tripod's mechanical bowels. "I've said many times that at the start of the eclipse the sun would be on this side and since this slope is leeward one, all the dust would be driven to the opposite side of the mountain! That's all! Is it so hard to remember?! Ouch!"

"Gadget, what happened?!" Dale shouted. He just finished attaching another additional unit to the telescope. Actually, it would be incorrect if not insulting to call this device 'a telescope' since in addition to the main optics combined with photo camera it carried eight auxiliary modules each of which would start at the predetermined time according to the program stored on the SIM-card. She was tinkering with its slot right now and accidentally touched one of the contacts which turned out live for some reason.

"No problem!" She answered, though her hair standing on its ends indicated otherwise.

"Why does she always sayz that?" Monty lamented angrily appealing rather to the valley beneath than to Zipper sitting on his shoulder. Little Rescue Ranger nevertheless squeaked guiltily and parted his hands.

"Don't, Zipper-me-lad!" Monty quickly consoled him. "I know ya don't know it for nobody knows it at all! That doesn't reverse the fact that as soon as she speaks that her phrase I start feeling meself sitting on top of the volcano ready to erupt! Yeah, Zipper, you're right, and the fact we're on one blimey volcano now really adds to the insult…

"What happened with that darned thing?!" Gadget shouted and after clicking some buttons on the remote to no avail kicked of the tripod's legs in desperation. The green light shining on the console indicated it was on, but the ball head with telescope bearings didn't move. It was built to rotate slowly, following the movement of the sun and not allowing it to leave the focus until the very end of eclipse. "Why dontcha work, huh?! WHY?!" the inventor kept yelling, then she turned to her chipmunk companion. "Dale, have you finished?!"

"Three more modules, Gadget…"

"WHAT?! Gosh, why so darn slow?! We've been for half a day here and nothing is ready yet!"

"But Gadget, we came here only an hour ago!" Dale objected. "I'm working as fast as I can but―"

"AN HOUR?!"

Gadget looked at the sun and made some mind calculations. "Hmm, looks that way… Sorry, I've lost the track of time. Not that I generally had it, I mean, but today it goes much slower, you know…"

"Our lass is beside herself, that's for sure," Monty observed coming up to Dale and the table covered with telescope details. "She's bored with all those techie things, come to think of it! That's the news!"

Dale nodded. "Yeah! I noticed it back in Surabaya! She was so eager to come here, talked about everything happily, and today we almost had to carry her to the bus by force!"

"Well," Monty scratched his chin, "she can be understood. We received last letter from Chip four days ago, and since then ― nothing. No wonder she's worried."

"Sure…" chipmunk said darkly, twisting and turning the cover of infraspectroscope which refused to screw up.

"Yer turning it to the wrong direction," the Aussie prompted him.

"I know, thanks!" his friend snarled but followed the advice and blotted his sweating face with his shirt. "It's hot here…"

"Nervous?"

"No, not really!" Dale hastily objected. Then he glanced at Gadget still fighting with the mounting, her face full of not determination but desperation now, and sighed. "Okay, whom am I trying to cheat… Yes, I'm nervous and troubled! I haven't seen her like that since that Coo-Coo Cult affair and it scares me even more than her constant sitting in the workshop in summer! She was tired but obviously happy then, and now… But yeah, at that time Chip wasn't in the hospital on the other side of the world… Do you hear anything?!"

"I do!" Monterey Jack said and followed Dale's glance at the last tent on the left.

"It's coming from Gadget's tent!" Dale pointed. "What do you think it can be?"

"Anything from alarm clock to A-bomb!" Monty said warily. "Gadget-luv! Come here, please!"

His call remained unanswered. Dale, Monty and Zipper swung around to see Gadget looking somewhere to the east and away from the camp.

"GADGET!" alarmed friends ran up to her. Although they shouted almost in her ear, the mouse didn't react and Dale had to grab her by her shoulders and turn to himself to finally attract her attention.

"GADGET! GADGET! What's with you?! Are you alright?! Speak to me!"

"Chip…?" Gadget mumbled.

"No, Gadget, it's not Chip, it's me, Dale!"

"Chip…? Dale…? Golly!" Gadget shook her head and looked at her frightened friends. "Guys, did you hear anything?!"

"Too right we did!" Monty said. "Your tent is jinglin' like bell!"

"My tent―" Gadget ran back to the camp without finishing the phrase and disappeared in her tent. The rattling of things thrown on the ground was heard and in a minute she emerged holding a small black box shaped like those vibro-transceivers of hers and beeping loudly.

"What happened, Gadget?!"

"Someone invaded the southern sector of HQ ventilation system!" she said pointing at one of the twelve LEDs on the front panel flashing with red light. "But the grate is closed and camouflaged so that it's impossible to notice even if you stumble on it! How could they―"

"How serious is this?" Monty interjected. Gadget pressed a button on the back switching the beeper off and explained.

"If it's rodents, they won't get to the upper floors since the shafts are too narrow. Insects won't pass either because of photo cells and vibration detectors connected to RAID-traps. They would have to either go back or… Golly! Garage! If they get there―"

"They'll envy those who didn't!" Dale finished for her. "There's no way out! We dismantled the batteries and engines off the machines and locked them in your workshop, the gates are shut off and the door to hangar has code lock on it! They are trapped!"

The moment he uttered the last word the beeping started again, this time another LED blinking.

Gadget couldn't believe it. "Golly! The hangar door opened! But it's impossible! You can't guess 8-digit code so fast!"

She pressed the same button again but this beeping didn't stop. It grew even louder and the quantity of simultaneously blinking LEDs increased to five.

Monty was unable to contain his emotions. "WOW! That's a real invasion in there!"

"Not quite…" Gadget retorted pointing at the left row of LEDs, only one of which was on. "The perimeter is compromised only in garage ventilation and, based on blinking frequency, only once. But every one inner sensor activated as if somebody is running blindly around. That is, he can run around only blindly since it's night in our city now and we turned off the light so anyone coming in will be blind because of seeing nothing… Something like that, anyway!"

She pressed the button several times trying to shut the sound off. She shouldn't have done it for the device went completely crazy. The beeping became intolerable, the chaotic blinking of all twelve LEDs made the device look like Christmas Tree and in addition the vibration mechanism activated.

"Oh! How is it?! He shouldn't do it! The vibration and sound signals can't work at the same time!" Gadget wondered.

"Looks like it's malfunction, after all!" Monty surmised. "And I thought we were really attacked… CRICKEY! WHAT'S THAT?!"

The last phrase concerned the automatic tripod which suddenly sprang to life. After vibration mechanism activated the security device became hard to hold and Gadget had to take it with both paws. It remained unknown whether she accidentally pressed some buttons on the mounting's remote she still held in her hand or the device's bad example became infectious and the tripod decided to join the common revels. In any case, his upper half with five long rails waiting for the telescope to be attached to started rotating and turned the construct into a hybrid of Martian war machine and a windmill. Then silver smoke puffed out from its base.

"GADGET!!! FIRE!!!" the other Rangers shouted but the inventor remained oblivious, fully engrossed into fighting the mad device and paying no attention to her friends and smoking tripod from which tongues of flames appeared already.

Monty acted fast. He grabbed a portable fire extinguisher made from human disposable lighter and ran to fight the fire. But then Zipper who was first to get to the tripod squeaked his warning and highly experienced Aussie fell prone on the ground. Dale wasted no time, too, and jumped to push Gadget down on the ground.

It was right on time. The eerie metallic gnashing announced the clamping failure and two long planks flew out in different directions, rotating wildly and threatening to demolish everything on their way. One of them cut a corner rope of the nearest tent and stuck into some fissure in the stone while the other whizzed just millimeter away from where Gadget's head had been just a second ago, ricocheted from the nearest boulder and flew away into the valley. Not wanting to find out when all other parts of the tripod will learn to fly, Monty hurled fire extinguisher at it. The device fell down from the cliff and into the abyss where its existence ended with a loud, albeit inaudible from this height, clatter.

"Dale, what…? What was that?" Gadget asked. The device stopped beeping, though it was unclear whether her actions or falling on the ground was the cause.

"The tripod," Dale informed while helping her up. "How are you? Anything hurts?"

"No, I'm fully alright… You said, 'the tripod'?" the mouse looked around in bewilderment and only now noticed the absence of her latest invention. "Where's it?"

"Down there!" Monty waved to the edge of the cliff. He was helping Zipper who managed to evade the flying plank but was contused with the air wave it produced. "It ignited and started shooting parts so I took it down. I know there's nothing impossible for ya but I'm afraid that after falling from this height little very little remained of it, there were no sounds… Sorry, it started first… Where are you goin'?!"

"To break camp," Gadget said over her shoulder heading towards the tents. "We're going back!"

"Where to?" Dale asked.

"Home."

"Hotel, you mean? But―"

"No, Dale! I mean home! To our city!"

"But luv!" Monty objected. "I'm more than sure that you'll find everything you need to repair, that is, to build a new tripod, in Surabaya! And we won't have time to fly there and back again before the eclipse…"

"Scratch the eclipse, guys! Pack up, quickly!"

"Gadget, maybe tomorrow―"

"NO!" Gadget yelled. "NO 'TOMORROWS'! I DON'T EVEN WANT TO HEAR THIS WORD, UNDERSTOOD?!"

"Okay, okay, sorry!" Monterey Jack quickly apologized. "But maybe you'll at least explain what's goin' on?"

"Something happened to Chip. Bad, I mean."

"But Gadget, if this is about his letters, the delay could be caused by anything and―"

"It's not about letters. Not only about them, that is. Back in Magelang I felt that― that something was wrong, and now I… I don't know what it was, it can't be explained rationally but― all this extra parts from nowhere, the burning tripod…"

The muscle mouse hemmed.

"Gadget-luv, I don't want to insult you but it's far from the first time when the extra parts appear in your practice! And it's impossible to count all the times when your inventions started burning, even those containing nothing flammable!"

"And this signal from HQ?"

"Maybe it's malfunction?" Dale supposed. "Like when the system reacted to the dry leaf touching the window glass?"

"But I readjusted everything! And it was inner door, so there can be no leaves there!"

"Well, right. But even Monty won't knock the hangar doors down, and we are the only ones who know the code!"

"Chip knows it, too."

"_But it couldn't have been Chip!_" Zipper pointed out. "_He's got a broken leg! He wouldn't have got to the ventilation, not to mention the upstairs!_"

"That's the point, guys! But you saw everything for yourselves!"

"Well, actually―"

"Friends, listen! I know all this happenings, I mean absence of letters, extra parts, the signal and the tripod, aren't basically connected and each of them can be explained in thousands of ways. But all at once… You know, something like that happened to me before, and then I― I don't know― In short, I feel we must go back! Please, believe me! We've got to go! Now! Immediately!"

Dale, Monty and Zipper exchanged glances and knew from each other's expression they were thinking of the same thing.

"Saturday, the thirteenth…" the chipmunk uttered.

"Prophetic dream…" the Aussie whispered.

"Boeing…" Zipper squeaked.

And they ran to break the camp. Or, more precisely, to abandon it since they had too little time indeed. Gadget wanted to leave the island today, and in order to make it they needed to get to Juanda International Airport to the south of Surabaya by 6 PM to board the plane to Singapore where they'd cross to the airliner heading to their city.

"Faster, guys, faster!" the inventor urged her friends on though they were already moving at maximum speed. They left everything but the most important equipment and instruments but it didn't grant them ability to fly. And no matter how fast they ran and how many records of rope-climbing speed they set, it took them quite some time to get down, and the road before them was still very long.

"What now, Gadget?" Dale asked and plumped down on the ground, exhausted. "As for me, I won't hold this pace for long! How about catching a taxi?"

"Yeah, we surely need the transport," Monty agreed squeezing the sweat out of his helmet. "The tourist bus would do just fine…"

"We can't wait for a bus! The next one will arrive in an hour and leave in two more!" Gadget fetched the binoculars and looked over the valley. "But I think I know what to do! There!" She pointed at the bright-red off-road car parked on the hill half a mile away.

Trying to stay behind the boulders scattered around, the team approached the vehicle. It was owned by a family of four. The husband and the older son were putting up a tent while the younger boy ran about gathering pieces of volcanic rocks under his mother's close supervision.

"Okay, and what's our plan?" Monty asked when the Rangers gathered behind the largest of the rocks around the car. "Looks like they'll spent quite some time here, maybe even till the eclipse!"

"Then we must make them return to the city," the inventor stated.

"That's clear, but how?"

"Let's scare them!" Dale offered. "Gadget, do you have any green paint with you?"

"Green paint? What for?"

"I'll paint myself and become a radioactive monster!" he explained. "Like when we saved that, uhm, meenieweenium!"

"Ululunium," Gadget corrected him automatically, lost in thought after his words.

"Yeah, that one!" Dale went on, growing more and more enthusiastic. "I'll paint myself in green and attack them! They'll get frightened, jump into their car and run for their lives to the city! That's what we need! What do you think of it?"

"Reasonable!" Monterey agreed. "But we've got _problems_ with green paint today."

"Really?" Dale grew disheartened. "What about orange?"

The Aussie lifted his hands. "Sorry, lad, same story, so it won't work."

"It would," Gadget interjected. "Dale, take off your clothes!"

Dale was taken aback. "Erhm, what's the big idea?"

"To look like a rock. Monty, cover Dale with dust!"

"Ah!" Dale brightened. "I will be the Ancient Spirit of the Volcano!"

"No, Dale, you'll be a boulder."

"A boulder? Just a boulder? I don't think they are afraid of the boulders!"

"Of simple boulders ― no, but what about alive and biting?"

"Alive and bi―" the chipmunk looked at the boy who gathered the whole pile of the stones already. "You mean, I must―"

"Exactly!"

"Gadget-luv, are you sure it would work with―" Monty covered his mouth with his paw and closed his eyes tightly, but it was too late.

"It should! Dale, don't stand! Go!"

Dale himself wanted everything to finish sooner, but he had to run from place to place several times before finally catching the boy's attention.

"Wow, an interesting rock!" he exclaimed running up to chipmunk and kneeling down to pick him up. Dale prepared to bite but suddenly the boy stopped and shouted.

"Mom! Mom! I found a little animal!"

"DON'T TOUCH IT, JOHNNY!" The panic response came immediately.

Luckily for Rescue Rangers, Johnny turned out not only curious but also naughty boy and tried to grab the unusual find. That was just what Dale was waiting for. He jumped up, bit boys finger and ran away.

"AAAAHHHH!" Johnny cried shaking his injured hand. "MOMMY! IT BIT ME! AAAAHHHH"

The woman dashed to her son. "JOHNNY!!! Show me! Show me…! OH, GOD! THERE'S BLOOD! PHI-I-I-IL!!!"

Her husband came running. "What happened, Joan?! What's with Johnny?!"

"Some thing bit him!!! We need to go to the hospital!!!"

"But darling, we have everything we need in out car medical kit…"

Rescue Rangers hiding behind the rear wheel froze, but Joan's reaction surpassed their biggest expectations.

"MEDICAL KIT?!! HOW DARE YOU, PHIL?!!! OUR SON GOT BITTEN BY SOME TROPICAL BEAST WHICH CAN BE RABID, POISONOUS OR INFECTIOUS AND YOU WANT TO DO WITH MEDICAL KIT?!!" She shook her son. "Johnny, son, how do you feel?"

"Ba-a-a-ad…" Johnny answered. After his mom's words he started crying even louder.

"Everything will be alright, son! We'll heal you…! WHY ARE YOU STANDING, PHIL?!! LET'S GO! BILLIE! TO THE CAR, NOW!!!"

"Tropical beast, rapid poisonous infection…" Dale mumbled angrily climbing onto the bumper and helping Gadget up. "I've never been called like that, even by Chip!"

"Don't worry, lad! Everything happens for the first time someday!" Monterey Jack patted his shoulder. "But that's nothing! You didn't hear how the chief of the Komodo lizards called me when I dropped some coconut on his tail. Which reminds me…"

The off-roader darted forward and the end of the story was lost in motor roar and dust clouds.

Johnny's father obviously caught up his wife's fear. He was driving at full speed and Rescue Rangers had to hammer several mountaineering hooks into a spare tire to hold on. When the machine drove through Pano Rami and several smaller villages without breaking down little heroes rejoiced because at this speed they would reach Juanda Airport.

But when the car reached the highway, it turned not north to Surabaya but south to Malang, the second largest city of Eastern Java province. And though Rescue Rangers had no problems finding a terminal of buses heading to Surabaya there, when the sweating friends ran into the airport territory, Singapore Airlines Airbus A340 was taking off already. The four rodents had nothing else to do but sit down on the pavement and bid the white airliner with golden emblem on the blue fin their desperate farewell.

"Late… We still came late… Why, why did they turn to that darned Malang?!" Gadget lamented. Dale joined her. "How will we fly now? They've got no direct flights from here…"

"_Yes, we'll need a computer to create a transit route!_" Zipper squeaked.

"Don't worry, guys, nothing's lost yet!" Monterey assured them and went towards airport terminal resolutely. "Follow me!"

Everybody followed him to the side entrance into Terminal B. There, in the depth of maintenance corridors, Small Terminal was located which served the passengers of their kind. The crowds here were quite comparable with those in the human part of the airport, for both worlds were stricken with holiday fever. The queues to the information windows ran through the entire hall and moved forward with the speed of old snail going uphill. This picture mad Dale and Gadget sad but the Aussie asked them not to mind it and lead them to the other corner of the hall. There was a small door in the dim lit corner with a sign written in five languages "Authorized Personnel Only!"

"Monty, you sure it's the right door?" Dale asked, nervously looking around.

"Sure I'm sure!" the large mouse answered and knocked the code lock panel with his knuckles.

"How do you know the code?" Gadget asked. Then the alarm sounded from inside and she quickly added. "Scratch that!"

The next moment incoming metallic clanging sounded from all sides and three sparkling balls rolled up to the door. It took them another second to transform into large armadillos who cut all the ways of retreat. Usually these natives of Central and South America couldn't be met outside their natural habitats, if only in the zoos. But lately they became popular choice of security guards for important objects like houses of rich animals and strategic enclaves like Small terminals.

"Don't move!" the largest of the armadillos ordered. His high-pitched voice and acquired Eastern accent sounded funny but his powerful torso and battle stance radiated naked aggression.

"Excuse us, good mister," Monty bowed courteously. "Would be so kind as to lead us to Budi Bambang?"

"What do you want from bapak(*) Bambang?"

**(* 'Bapak' means 'father' in Javanese, used as polite address)**

"It's personal affair, dear mister."

"Is he your friend?"

"I know him, he knows me. I suppose, that's all _you_ need to know, honorable sir." Monty remained expressly polite but added a bit of steel to his voice showing the guard that _krama_ is _krama_(**), but the distance must be kept.

**(** Krama ― formal polite style of Javanese language)**

"Follow me," the armadillo opened the door and went down the corridor, clanking like ungreased plate armor. The Rangers followed him with another armadillo bringing up the rear.

"Where are we going?" Dale whispered to Monty. "And who's that Woody Bang-Bang?"

The mustached mouse frowned. "Remember, Dale! Not Woody but Budi, and not Bang-Bang but Bambang! 'Budi' in Javanese means 'a sage', and 'Bambang' means 'a knight'! He's the head of local post office and an old pal of mine! Providin' he's not still mad at me about that cheese crate…"

Dale and Zipper gulped. They recalled that Monty said almost the same on the way to Geegaw's bomber and it ended in a giant slalom of survival. The Aussie clearly thought the same and quickly added:

"Oh, don't give it another thought, pals! He's a nice guy and you'll surely like him― WOW!!!"

The airports in South-East Asia were always praised for the highest level of electronic equipment used there. And because in this part of the world the technical progress was especially fast, the junkyards were full of fully operational computers and rodent terminals lagged not far behind. The post office in Juanda Airport wasn't an exception. You wouldn't find a computational cluster made of five notebooks as in Hong Kong International Airport here, and they didn't set the route here on the 50" plasma panel with the help of light pens like in Tokyo Haneda, but it still had what to surprise an unprepared adventurer with. Monty was one of them and stopped on the threshold, wondering if they were led into some kind of secret laboratory.

The post office occupied a broad room illuminated with daylight lamps. The rhythmic droning of blade server connected to the airport's information system accompanied the periodic change of data on two 17" monitors showing the latest information about flights, weather forecast and local time in world's largest cities ― in short, everything people could see on the information screen in the terminal's main hall. The fully automated system required minimal attentions and control, that's why there were only three animals in the room, one of them the head of the post office. He was pygmy possum, relatively large for his species, with grayish hair and whiskers. He was only a bit smaller than Monty and compared to his two mice subordinates he looked especially authoritatively.

The leading armadillo bowed upon entering. "Bapak Bambang! The visitors came to see you!"

"Thank you, Guntur!" possum said turning to the door and looking at the group. "You may― YOU?!"

"Me, bapak Bambang!" Monterey bowed to him twice as lower as to the guard.

Bambang slowly raised from his chair, approached still bowing Monty and said in toneless voice.

"So, you returned? You've got a lot of bravery coming here, haven't you? You dared to walk in here hands down after what you pulled, didn't you?"

"Bapak Bambang, I can explain everything…"

"I hope so. I very much hope so," the possum hissed moving threateningly towards him. "I recall that you and your pilot accomplice left too hastily to observe all the appropriate etiquette. Besides, where is he? His name was Geegaw if memory serves me…"

Gadget stepped forward. "You knew my father?"

"Your father?" Bambang asked again.

"Yes, my father. I'm Gadget Hackwrench, daughter of Geegaw Hackwrench."

"And where is he himself? Or, unlike your friend, he is conscious enough not to show up here?"

"He perished several years ago," the inventor answered in a low voice.

"This is the kind of news which grab the heart with the cold hand of sorrow, nona(***)" The old possum said half-closing his eyes as a sign of the greatest sorrow he could feel for the tragic death of his old enemy.

**(*** 'Nona' ― polite address to unmarried woman)**

"Bapak Bambang, please, help us!" Gadget asked. "I dunno what Monty did but I'm sure he's very sorry and repents what he's done, and we need your help badly! Our friend is in grave danger! Please!"

Not a single muscle moved on possum's face during her speech. There was silence in the room for some time, then he looked at Monterey.

"What will you say?"

"I'll say she's too right, bapak Bambang! I'm really sorry about my unworthy deed. I know I can't be forgiven but I ask not for meself but for Gadget, daughter of my friend. Neither he nor, moreover, she has anything to do with this, and the guilt is all mine. Please, bapak."

"Your reasons are clear to me," possum said crossing his arms in front of him. "Let us see if it is the case with your request."

"We need to get to US West Coast as fast as possible," Gadget said. "We missed our plane and have no idea how to travel there now. Could you make a route for us?"

Bambang answered far from straight away.

"Very well, I will help you to leave our hospitable island in a short time. But I have one condition."

"What?" Monty inquired.

"Never see any of you. No one. Not you, nor your relatives up to the seventh branch."

"And that's all?" Dale exclaimed. "We never wanted to, honestly! Bargain!"

Possum smiled wryly.

"We heard the Reckless Youth. What will the Beauty, the Swiftness and the Gluttony say?"

"No problem," Gadget responded.

"_Okay!_" Zipper squeaked.

"I agree, Bapak," Monterey Jack nodded.

"Thus we will consider the understanding reached."

With that Bambang turned around and went to his console ― folding cell phone attached to the round table. He lifted the lid and pressed some buttons. When the terminal responded he motioned Rescue Rangers to approach and turned the phone so that they could see the screen.

"As you can see," he pointed at the top row of the list marked with red, "the last flight from here which could get you to your destination left already. That's why you'll have to travel to Jakarta and board Korean Air Flight KE628 Jakarta-Seoul, departing at 09:55 PM. From Seoul you'll depart at 3:05 PM, local time, via Asiana Airlines Flight OZ214 and land in your city's International Airport at 8:18 AM, Pacific Time. Satisfied?"

"And what flight is that?" Dale pointed at the lowest line of the table where "Arrival at Destination" cell read "7:55 AM, PT".

"This? This is flight through Bali and Tokyo," possum said without hesitation.

"But it's faster, no?"

"No," Bambang tapped his nail against the screen. "Here the estimated time of arrival under ideal conditions is written. But when Narita is involved, there can be no ideal conditions."

Dale didn't get it. "Who's Narita?"

Monty came to his help. "It's Tokyo Airport, the second busiest in Japan."

The head of the post office nodded. "Exactly. Delays from ten minutes to half an hour are a norm."

"So much?" Gadget asked, not really believing. "With all their facilities and discipline?"

"The load grows faster than the bamboo. They are already building two more airports in adjacent prefectures but right now they had to resign to their fate. Sure, you can take that flight but don't expect to come home before nine o'clock. But if an hour doesn't make a different season…"

"They do! They more than do!" Gadget assured him. "When is the next flight to Jakarta?"

"Everything is listed here. Boeing 734, Garuda Indonesia, Flight GA239. Boarding at Terminal A, departure in twenty minutes."

Monty bowed once again. "Thank you, Bapak! Your kindness truly knows no bounds!"

"But my patience does," possum observed cheerlessly. "Guntur, show our guests the way. Safe flight you all. Farewell."

"Boeing 734?" Dale asked when the team was back in Small terminal's main hall. "I never knew they existed."

"It's a code name for Boeing 737-400. It's shorter and clearer." Gadget readily explained. She would have said much more but was interested in other subject right now. "Monty, you've been here before so lead the way. By the way, that is, besides, what happened between you, daddy and this pal?"

"Well, almost the same as in Zanzibar," the Aussie answered making his way through dense crowd of passengers towards the corridor leading to Terminal A. "Me and Geegaw were helping the locals to deal with a flock of kites of passage. They attacked mail pigeons and we decided to lure them out. We spent almost a day gluing pigeon feathers to the Screaming Eagle!"

"And they bought it?" the blonde mouse wondered. "But Screaming Eagle was much larger than pigeon!"

"And didn't flap his wings!" Dale added.

Monty shrugged. "Well, the plan surely had its flaws but it worked! After all, we carried a large crate for a reason. So they pecked onto it, and I mean in all the senses, but quickly broke their beaks off the hull and started tearing our wings out! And they almost did it, I must say. But all those arrow and net launchers Geegaw installed worked just the way they had to and we quickly caught the most reckless ones, and pursued the rest up to the ocean! Which reminds me o' the time in the Andes…"

"Some other time about the Andes!" Dale broke him off. "Next, what happened next?"

"Next? Well, how to say it… In short, we came back here. Geegaw stayed at the plane and I went to Bambang for our reward. Back then the post office wasn't located here since this building wasn't built yet but in the terminal's luggage area. That made mail planting and getting out easier, ya know. When I came in they were receiving one parcel, from the Netherlands, as it turned out. And the workmouse dropped it. It cracked open and…"

"I get it," Gadget stopped him. "It contained the cheese which you gulped right away!"

"Well…" Monty hesitated to admit the obvious. "It's not necessary to put exactly this way but basically yer right. I've never eaten the cheese tastier, I must say…"

"Yeah, like any other time!" Dale snickered. "What's next?"

"Next everyone went mad and the whole airport started catchin' me. I'd fight them off but there're too many o' them so I decided it was wiser to get my butt in gear and get goin'. Geegaw was very surprised to see me coming without award and with a horde of postal killers on my tail but reacted quickly and turned the engines on, so when I boarded the plane she took off… Wait, where on earth are we?!"

Although the friends had to wander about a little they got to Terminal A right on time. Needless to say there were no telescopic hoses leading right into passenger cabin. Rodent passengers were lined into two rows in front of broad ladder attached to the drainage hole, one of the many scattered over the airport, right under the needed aircraft. When the lookout signaled there were no humans in sight, the grate was raised and the animals ran to the side gear posts they used to climb onboard. At 7:04 PM Boeing 737-400 took off and headed for Jakarta, and the very next moment rodent operator announced, pointing at the main monitor.

"The last to Jakarta departed, bapak!"

Indeed, all other flights to Jakarta, the first of which was about to depart in fifteen minutes, were marked as 'cancelled'.

"Right on schedule," Bambang admitted. "Switch over to Bali!"

The operators started typing the keyboards of the cell phones made into personal terminals. They had to work fast to change the mail route program before next portion of it arrives. The grey-haired possum reclined in his chair and closed his eyes. Everything went perfectly and the hurrying four didn't notice the date written in the corner of the schedule he was showing them. The day and month were the same as today. The year wasn't.

He deliberately showed them the future schedule because he was aware that at 8:30 PM Soekarno-Hatta International Airport would be closed because of tropical cyclone approaching from the north. According to the forecast provided by Indonesian Agency for Meteorology, Climatology and Geophysics, the cyclone would hit the mainland in full at 9:30 PM, but the main Jakarta airport would remain closed for at least a day or even two after the event.

Budi Bambang's credo was the maxim "Nothing under the sun remains unanswered", and he followed it closely. He followed it while convincing two strangers to accept the rich award in exchange for defeating the gang of kites. He followed it today. He still owed them their reward, that's why he didn't order Guntur to throw out this Australian and the daughter of that American. He even composed a route for them, repaying for the old service.

Now it was their turn to pay for everything he had to endure when this mustached embodiment of gluttony devoured the collection cheese delivered from the far-away Holland as a gift for the province governor's tame polecat.

Bapak staked his life on the safety of this cargo, and wasn't killed only because he fought for the cheese heroically and later chased the criminal's plane till the very last moment. He even grabbed the gears but didn't hold for too long and fell down on the runway pavement, injuring himself heavily. The polecat decided he suffered enough in physical sense and spared his life. But he demoted Bambang, the most promising employee of International Pigeon Express Equatorial Branch, to the mere letters sorter. Up to that moment Bambang had been the head of the post office for five years and he was the most likely candidate to become the head of the entire branch. But this incident closed him the way up forever.

Bambang didn't grumble. He passed all the steps of carrier ladder once again and returned to the position of the post office head which now was his maximum. Every given day he remembered the Australian who ruined his career and the American who helped him to escape the justice, and designed the most exotic revenge plans.

To his utmost regret his job prohibited him from going searching for them and his pride didn't allow him to hire somebody. So he worked industriously knowing that if the Gods wished, the river of destiny would bring his enemies to his coast. And so it happened in the perfect way he never dared to even imagine. They came to him themselves seeking his help. They must have thought he had forgotten everything and wouldn't dig the past up.

Children of the West, what's more to say. They know nothing of the revenge which breeds for years gathering strength in order to awaken later and make everybody hear its cry. Just like the tropical cyclone to which Bambang entrusted his enemies' lives. He had no illusions considering their survival. Surely they will survive. They'll hide somewhere deep beneath the airport complex and wait there till the storm is over. But if they told him the truth and even forty minutes could decide their friend's fate, they wouldn't help him.

_Nothing under the sun remains unanswered. Help for help. Life for life. Balance is preserved…_ Bambang thought. He imagined the faces of the Australian and the American girl and for the first time in years his face brightened with a truly happy smile.

*** 3 ***

_December 19__th__, evening (local time)_

"Why is it shaking so… Why…" Dale moaned. His bright-red Hawaiian shirt in combination with green color of his face made him look like an oversized replica of Zipper.

The plane was tossing form side to side and all the passengers had to grip the handles of the fold-back seats with all their might. The rows of the seats were attached to the walls of luggage compartment underneath first class cabin. Around fifty rodents were on board which was quite impressive given that only a small percentage of animals dared to travel to far away lands. The main reason for such large quantity was not the pre-holiday activity but that this was an inner flight. For instance, from the US to Taiwan Rescue Rangers flew along with only a dozen of fellow travelers.

"Bumpiness!" Gadget shouted to make herself heard through the surrounding noise. "We must have flew into a thunderstorm!"

"Thunderstorm?!" mockingly asked a flying squirrel sitting nearby. "This is the storm of the stroms, nona! It's real tropical cyclone!"

"Cyclone?" Gadget wondered.

"Yeah, cyclone! Didn't you hear the news or the weather forecast?"

"Wlachally, we did, but for Surabaya only. And how long will it last?"

"Nobody knows. But you've got lucky enough to catch the last flight to the capital in the nearest day at least!"

"DAY?!" Rescue Rangers shouted in unison and exchanged bewildered glances.

"No, it can't be…" the mouse inventor whispered. She couldn't be heard but her facial expression was more expressive than the loudest of screams.

"Don't worry, Gadget!" Dale said in the most cheerful tone he was capable of on his current half-conscious state. "If the airport is closed for arrival, it doesn't mean it's closed for departure, yes?"

Gadget just shook her head and squeezed his paw thanking for attempt to cheer her up. But she knew the principles of airport functioning under natural disaster too well, and the friend's words didn't thaw an icy clot inside her. For the remainder of flight she just sat there, but the moment the gears touched the runway with a squeal she jumped up and ran to the exit. The other Rangers followed her, although Dale, at first capable of moving on his knees only, fell behind.

Only wet asphalt could be seen through the doors into the nacelle, but as soon as Gadget descended on the gear post she found herself on some other planet. The sky was almost black and the voice of the engines drowned in the wailing of the wind. Their aircraft was slowly crawling to the airport building hidden in the darkness; its floodlights were barely seen through wall of rain seemed as far and unreachable as the stars covered by the clouds.

Then the terminal emerged from the darkness along with the hose already extending to meet the liner. Without waiting for the plane to stop completely Gadget jumped down on the ground and ran to the Small Terminal entrance. The memory served her, but because of the crushing wind and the rain pouring down her eyes it took her quite some time to find it. And even then she'd most probably missed it if it wasn't for the bright-yellow light-reflecting coat worn by a long-nosed bandicoot guarding them.

"Excuse me!" Gadget shouted gripping the airport worker by his sleeve. "I need to―"

"Faster, nona, faster!" the bandicoot took her by her shoulders and motioned to the door. "Get inside! It's dangerous to stay here!"

"No-no, wait!" Gadget broke free and grabbed his paw once again. "Tell me how long it will last. We've got flight at 9:55 PM…"

"What flight are you talking about?!" the bandicoot exclaimed.

"Korean Air, Jakarta ― Seoul," Gadget answered.

"I'm afraid, luv, he doesn't mean _that_!" Monty observed running up to them. His magnificent moustache soaked and hung down, and the water ran from them down under his collar, right on the head of Zipper hiding under his friend's sweater. Dale, instantly rejuvenated by water sprays and bone-piercing wind also caught with them and stood by Gadget's side.

"Y-you m-mean," he joined the conversation, his teeth chattering with cold, "that w-we w-won't f-fly an-nywher-re?"

"If only directly to heaven if you don't go inside!" bandicoot answered angrily. He made another attempt to shove the chipmunk and the mouse into the terminal but neither of them moved.

"We won't go anywhere until you explain everything!" Gadget demanded.

"Listen, I don't know what you're up to but mind that I'll apply force if needed!"

"Easy, pal!" Monty rolled up his wet sleeves, albeit not without some efforts. "We too have somethin' to apply! Tell us what's goin' on here!"

"What's going on?! Are you insane?! Look around! The fourth category cyclone is approaching here which threatens to change into the fifth any minute! What exactly you don't understand?!"

"Golly…" Gadget whispered. She covered her face with paws and stepped aside. She heard everything she needed and was interested in nothing more. Unlike Dale who decided to make sure.

"Th-that is, all th-the f-flights―"

"WHAT FLIGHTS?!" the bandicoot was yelling already. "The airport is closed for the nearest day minimum! Why are you standing?! Get inside before you are blown away!"

"He's too right, lad," Monty concluded sadly. "We can do nothing here…"

"IT'S HIM! YOUR SO CALLED FRIEND!" anger made Dale forget about cold and shaking. "He set this up! How did you say?! 'Providing he's not still mad at me about that cheese crate', yeah?! Oh yes, he wasn't mad! Wasn't mad at all!!!"

The Aussie sank his shoulders and uttered quietly, barely heard against the raging wind. "Yeah, right, I must've known, felt it… But now…" He waved in the direction of Gadget standing not too far away with her back turned to them. "Tell her we need to get inside."

Red-nosed, or rather, blue-nosed chipmunk nodded and approached the mouse. She was standing like a statue looking into the distance and paying no attention to the rain and the wind.

Dale put his hand on her shoulder. "G-Gadget," he called. "P-please, let's g-go inside. It's b-better there, w-warmer…"

"Dale, give me binoculars, please!" Gadget asked. Her voice was absolutely calm, as though she asked to pass her a salt at the dinner table.

"B-binoculars? B-but…"

"Now!" the mouse hurried him. Dale didn't get it but obeyed and handed her the optics. She pointed it at the other side of the airport, at the cargo terminal where the lights were blinking. They caught her attention earlier since they couldn't be mistaken for anything.

It was airliner's navigation lights.

"Guys, let's go!" Monty shouted coming up to them. The bandicoot running up next was harsher. "Listen, you!!!" he yelled. "Either you go inside or I lock the doors and you stay here to fight for you lives on your own!!! IS IT CLEAR?!"

"No, not quite!" Gadget said pointing at the lights. "What plane is that?"

"That? It's a transport charted by American Red Cross! Carries a kidney for urgent transplantation!"

"And w-what ab-bout the c-cyclone?" Dale asked pointing around them.

"They said they'll try to break through and were allowed to take off as an exception! There's no difference for them between staying on the ground or falling into the ocean, in either case the patient's doomed!"

As soon as he said 'patient' Gadget's heart missed a beat. She dashed to the airport attendant and seized him by his elbow. "You said American Red Cross?! They're heading to the USA, yes?! Where to?! Where?!"

"Nona, listen, there's no boarding on it…"

"DARN! JUST TELL ME WHERE THEY ARE GOING!!!"

The bandicoot gave up. "To San-Angeles!"

Gadget lost her breath. "To… To San-Angeles! Sure… Are you sure?!"

"Their cargo is meant for Pacific Medical Center! Of course I'm sure!"

"GOLLY! GOLLY!" Gadget hugged the attendant and kissed him on his cheeks so firmly that his hood fell from his head. "Thank you! Thank you very much!"

"Not at all, nona…" confused bandicoot muttered, but quickly braced himself and threatened. "Either you go with me or I lock everything up!"

"Thanks, but no! We… we have a similar situation, can't wait and must board this plane! Good luck to you! Come on, guys!"

"WAIT!" the airport worker stopped them. "You won't pass there! You'll be gone with the wind or killed by the debris!"

Indeed, here under the buildings cover the wind and the rain merely didn't allow to speak normally. But on the airport field where there was nothing to contain it the nature was running amok, and palm leaves and pieces of nearby buildings' roofing could be seen flying over the runways.

"Oh, boy…" Dale shook and hid his paws under his shirt. "Too b-bad they aren't loaded with ch-cheese! M-Monty w-would sense it, t-take us under h-his arms and r-run th-ther like a r-rocket! No r-rain or c-cold w-would've s-stopped h-him!"

"Rocket, rain, cold…" Gadget repeated slowly and brightened. "Golly, Dale! You are a genius!"

"Sure I am!" the chipmunk warmed instantly and smiled. "But what did I say?"

"You'll see!" the inventor promised and turned to the attendant. "What is the shortest way to the luggage section?"

"Luggage? It's against the rules, you know…"

"Please!" Gadget pleaded. "It's a matter of life and death! I beg you!"

The bandicoot looked into her eyes filled with supplication and felt that never before he wanted anything as much as he now wanted to violate instruction. He sighed deeply. "All right, I'm already late with closing the gates. One misconduct more, one less… Let's go!"

The wind was getting stronger and heavy raindrops louder and louder tapped against the hull and the glass of Boeing driving to the runway. The water flows were too strong for the windshields, even powerful headlights didn't allow to see further then a couple of dozen of feet and the crew had to move following instructions from the control tower. The pilots and the flight controllers were too engrossed into their work to pay attention to even the largest debris flying around.

That's why even if one of them was saw a strange object racing zigzag across the airport he would think it's just another piece of trash and not mind it at all. Only someone irresponsible enough to pay attention to such trifles could notice a couple of peculiarities about it. But if the zigzag movement which looked like evasive maneuvers helping the thing to avoid collision with the debris could be considered unsystematic coincidence, it was hard to explain why this object moved against the wind. As always, the explanation was simple and ingenious, albeit incredible. It wasn't the debris but a vehicle of non-trivial design.

The base of this elaborate vehicle consisted of two slalom roller skates. Rangers found them in screamingly colorful sporting bag and their hard boots suited the harsh weather conditions best. The skates were connected by two control planks made of grips of two suitcases' telescopic handles. They were fastened by two screws which held them in place but allowed to turn. Through the former screw holes on the top plank two pairs of laces were running. The Rangers took them out of the sneakers found in the same bag, cut in halves and braided for additional firmness.

The first pair, thrown over metallic hooks taped to the outer sides of the boots, allowed Gadget to move the upper plank left or right by pulling the loose ends. Another pair of laces whose loose ends also were in her hands was shoved through a ring of skate's removable brake held in place by two more screws, then tied to the outer side of the upper plank. The left arm's lace was tied to the right end and vice versa. Because the lower plank was firmly pressed in between the boot's soil and the wheel frame and couldn't move, horizontal movement of the upper plank made the boots lean synchronously to the same side while pulling on another pair of laces made one of the boots move slightly forward for one wheel's length. This combination of leaning and moving forward allowed the hastily built rollermobile to turn but couldn't make it move all by itself.

That's where Dale's phrase about rockets and cold came handy. The former led Gadget to the thought of using jet power, while the latter ― to the choice of propulsion system. She would have gladly used fireworks as she sometimes did but they were hard to find in the luggage of air travelers. Unlike much more prosaic hair dryer found in the first suitcase with woman name on the tag and soon the rollermobile was ready.

Dale instantly named it "Rolling Thunder". It was no more than wordplay on the name of a popular rollerdrome written on the sporting bag they found, it suited the weather perfectly and 'that' Saturday 13th didn't exist. But Gadget still shook involuntarily at the memories of emotions which were too bright and of the loss she suffered then which was too heavy too endure.

It remained only to solve the power source problem for even in 'cool shot' mode the dryer's consumption rate was about 500 Watts. The accumulator like that on gyrotank was nowhere to be found, not to mention that "Rolling Thunder" totally lacked space for it. The only remaining option was to use the batteries found amidst the luggage. The dryer's design didn't provide the battery feeding so Gadget had to teach it doing so with the help of two power cables from electric razors and two charging modules for digital cameras with inverted polarity. Gadget put them into the rear of the boots and made to work like UPS, that is, when the battery inserted into the first of them was used up, the second turned on automatically. This would give either Dale or Monty enough time to throw the used battery overboard through the special cutting in the boot's side and insert a fresh one taken from the storage organized in the boot's toe.

"Ho-ho-ho…" Monty said when the team rolled the vehicle out on the street. "Even Geegaw, the greatest pilot out there, won't be taking his Boeing off the ground! If he had one, that is…"

"You are right, Monty!" Gadget nodded and looked at her friends. "Guys, I want you to know that it's in fact very, very, very dangerous! And I want to tell that… In short, you don't need to fly with me."

"WHAT?! HOW?! WHY?! BZ-BZZBZZZZZZ-BZ-BZ!!!" the other Rangers rioted and she had to raise her hand to make them calm down.

"But this plane has very little chances! And if we all perish, then… It will be no good, in short. Trust me, I'll handle it! I'll investigate everything, arm myself and take the gyrotank if needed! And you come later! You'll have enough batteries left to make it to the nearby shelter! Please!"

Monty crossed his arms and frowned.

"If I get it right, ya want me to let the daughter of my old friend go alone with the pilots I don't know?" he pointed at the black sky to the north. "Go there, into the fray? Don't even think about it, lass!"

"Yes! Don't even think!" Dale joined in and climbed onto the "Rolling Thunder". "We fly all or not at all! Let's go!"

"But guys, please, I don't want to risk your lives!"

"Risk our lives?" Monty asked squeezing into the left boot. "You stuffed us into two roller skates which you are going to drive somehow across the airport in the middle of the tropical cyclone and board the plane during take-off and, even more than that, pull it off on a shoelace and a dryer? Forget it!"

"Right!" Dale's voice came from the right shoe. "Forget it!"

"But…" Gadget climbed on the driver's seat and looked into his boot. "Dale, please! I'm serious!"

The chipmunk climbed up, put his paws on her shoulders and looked into her eyes.

"Me too, Gadget! If you want me to stay you'll have to knock me out, bind, gag and throw into the deepest basement they have here! I won't let you go alone anywhere! So, as the song goes, shut up and drive…! Oh, gosh, sorry! I…"

"It's okay, Dale!" Gadget smiled. "Thank you!"

"You are welcome! If you need something, you know where to find me!"

"I do!" the mouse laughed and started shoving her friend back down into the boot. "Come on, get down! We're rolling! Rescue Rangers away!"

And they were away. Gadget fastened herself with boot's Velcro fastener and pulled the laces, driving the vehicle enveloped with a plastic bag for additional protection of precious drier from the moisture. She led it across the airfield to the plane barely visible in the darkness while Monty and Dale changed the batteries. It was hot, dark and tight down there, behind the thick walls of boots, especially for the broad shouldered Aussie. But it was nothing compared to uncertainty they had to endure since they could see almost nothing through the small ventilation holes and because of the hairdryer working right above them they could hear even less than that. That's why Gadget's voice calling them from time to time was like a breath of fresh air for them.

"How many batteries left, Monty?!" Gadget asked loudly leaning to the left boot.

"Five units, luv!" Monty shouted to overcome the joint wailing of the wind and the dryer.

"What about you, Dale?!"

"All right, Gadget! We have them so many we can make us navigation lights, too!"

Gadget giggled. "You are in your usual vein, Dale!"

"Agreed! Though I'd prefer a Coo-Coo Cola well here instead! Or just―" Dale didn't finish as at this very moment the LED on the now discharging device turned off indicating the battery's depletion. Chipmunk quickly replaced it and went on.

"I say I wouldn't mind having a cup of water! It's a swelter down here!"

"And I can't look at the water now!" Gadget commented. "I've got so much of it here it would be enough to supply our city without interruption during forty five to forty nine hours! I can't say exactly without integration!"

"No-no-no, Gadget, please, don't talk about emigration! We're living in a very nice city! Yes, earthquakes happen there and the like but it's much worse here!"

"Golly, Dale, you misheard me!" Gadget laughed and Dale calmed down, relieved. "Okay, guys!" She commanded. "Get ready! We almost caught her!"

"Where's she?" Monty asked. He just threw out another battery overboard and wiped a sweat off his forehead. Zipper sitting on top of the boot answered first.

"What?" Aussie asked again. "Taxiing out on the runway?! She'll take off soon!"

"No, Monty!" Gadget shouted. "They'll fly eastwards and they'll go to the opposite end so that it would be more convenient to fly! They have a whole runway length to tax… GOLLY!!!"

Everybody grew alarmed. "WHAT?! WHAT HAPPENED?!!"

"She's… She's stopping! As though preparing for take off! But… But it's inconvenient… OHMIGOSH!" Gadget clasped her head letting the laces go for a brief moment. "Rolling Thunder" drove sideward because Monty's weight made left boot heavier and more stable, but Gadget quickly stabilized them.

"WHAT HAPPENED, GADGET?! WHAT'S GOIN' ON THERE?!"

"I forgot! I miscalculated! They've got an emergency, they won't waste time for additional maneuvers! GOSH! They're powering up! Hear it?!"

Indeed, the usual wind wailing and dryer howling were joined by new rapidly growing din of engines.

"Now what? Now what?" Gadget muttered trying to evaluate the distance and predict where she would be when the Rangers reach the point she was now. By this time the plane would pass at least one hundred feet. "Rolling Thunder" would cover this distance in two seconds and a half but the plane would move further and would keep moving further and faster since his engines had virtually enormous reserve of power while their dryer was working on its limits…

_STOP!_

_It's not true!_ Gadget surmised. _It's working in 'cool shot' mode which allows to decrease the power consumption by almost three time because the current doesn't run through nichrome wires used to heat up the air flow passing through them. That's why the power consumption is that low ― no additional current strength is needed to overcome the resistance of nichrome! But in the second, 'hot shot' mode the speed of main fan drastically increases to produce more powerful airflow and thus more powerful jet stream…_

"GUYS!"

"WHAT?!"

"We'll have to switch to the full power!"

"But you said we wouldn't have enough batteries!"

"Yes, but if we don't turn it on we won't catch up with the plane! How many batts do we have?"

"I've got four!" Monterey responded.

"Me, too!" Dale reported. "But I'll need a change soon!"

"This means eight…" Gadget mumbled. _If the power consumption increases in three times with batteries capacity remaining constant it will be…_

"It's okay, we'll make it!" Gadget shouted in turn into each boot. "But you'll have to listen attentively! You must change the batteries in the last moment only! Not after their charge runs out but when the other battery is depleted!"

"But why so difficult?!" her friends wondered in unison.

"It will decrease the power usage to feed the LED indicator! It's miser but we need every tiny bit we have now! Okay, primary charger will be in the right boot! Dale, you'll be the first to change battery! Don't insert new battery until you hear my signal, okay?"

"Okay!"

"Monty! As soon as your charge depletes shout to make me know about it! Don't insert the new one until my signal! Understood?!"

"Okey-dockey, luv!"

"Great! Ready, steady, go!"

Gadget flipped the switch on dryer's handle into the topmost position. Its frame vibrated a little and the wailing grew louder.

"My battery's out!" Dale shouted.

"Good! Take it out but don't insert the next one! Monty, prepare to take your battery out!"

"What?! So soon?!"

"Oh, forgot to mention you'll need to work three times faster than before―"

"Mine's out!" Aussie's blaring voice broke her off.

"Dale, go! Monty, take the battery out and get ready!" Gadget commanded, simultaneously noting the time the dryer needed to suck the battery out. It was terrifyingly fast. On the other hand, "Rolling Thunder" darted forward like a bullet, swallowing the feet between it and the plane by dozens.

"Monty, go!" Gadget ordered. Right on time, for almost immediately the shout came from the right boot.

"I'm out!!!"

"Take it and get ready!"

They reached the edge of the runway and the mouse pulled the laces making the rollermobile follow the airliner already slowly moving forward. _Six batteries more. It should work…_

"Dale, go! Monty, get ready!"

Now only forty feet remained to the left inner gear post. The dim of engines was intolerable and Gadget inserted cotton plugs into her ears. They didn't plan to go as close to the engines as the previous time so they should be enough. She couldn't hear her friends' reports anymore but she didn't need it. She knew better when it was time to change the battery!

"Monty, go! Dale, get ready!"

Twenty feet. The gear post is almost within a reach. Just a bit more… By this time Dale and Monty should have inserted the earplugs, too, saving themselves from the murderous thunder of the turbines quartet. But they already got accustomed to the rhythm and went on without any reminders.

Five feet.

"Monty! Dale!"

One foot. Gadget lowered her goggles to protect the eyes from splashes of water and mud flying from beneath the huge wheels. Then she tightly secured the laces to the Velcro fastener and took the pneumatic mountaineering pistol off her belt. This time it was armed with grappling hook and a rope made of several shoelaces twisted pairwise and held together by hitches. Monty was swearing with his daddy's hat they'd hold anything. Laces themselves also should hold. It remained only to harpoon the plane yearning for the skies and there would be no problems.

Taking wind and speed into consideration, Gadget aimed and shot the hook into the opposite end of the nacelle. As she expected, the contrary wind and Boeing's acceleration compensated the speed of "Rolling Thunder" added to the own speed of the hook and it hit right into the junction between main gear post and a side holder, securing firmly.

Gadget tied the rope to the upper fastener of the left boot and motioned Zipper to call the others out. Little Rescue Ranger saluted and flew to fulfill the assignment. His size allowed him to move freely between the boots without leaving the plastic cover. He quickly transmitted Gadget's instructions to the others and they inserted the last batteries and climbed up for short meeting. Pointing at the rope, Gadget motioned them to climb but Monty indicated he would be the last to go being the heaviest of them and that she must go first. Dale and Zipper agreed and since there was no time to waste Gadget obeyed and went along the twisting and shaking rope. Dale with Zipper under his shirt went next. When he reached the middle of the rope, it was time for Monty to go.

No sooner had he grabbed the rope when the last battery ran out and the drier switched off. The makeshift towline stretched but held allowing Monterey to regain his breath. But then another trouble came, and thick branch flew from under the plane's gear hitting "Rolling Thunder". If the drier had still worked the rollermobile's speed would have been high enough to throw it away, shredded by the giant wheels. But now, when it was simply being dragged after the liner, the momentum wasn't enough. The branch promptly stuck between the boots and the roller frame blocking both front wheels dead. "Thunder" stopped rolling and started jumping.

"This bloomin' thing behaves just like the tapir caught in my vine trap!" Monty exclaimed, grabbing the rope with all his four limbs. "Who, if I don't confuse him with the rhino that fell into my pit trap, right after that began to… CRICKEY!"

He moved his legs and arms with tripled energy but got to the middle of the rope only when "Rolling Thunder" followed the aforementioned tapir's example and during another leap rolled over. It fell on the ground wheels up and stretched the rope to its limits. If the boots had been older or worse the Velcro fastener would have been first to fail. Unfortunately, the rope turned out the weakest link and the pair of laces Monty was holding to began to tear at its upper knot.

"HELP ME!" Gadget shouted to Dale and Zipper and the three of them began to pull the rope up. Although each hit against the ground caused "Rolling Thunder" to lose its parts, it simultaneously kept reeling the rope further increasing the load on the laces already tearing apart. Aussies jerky actions added to it, too.

"MONTY, JUMP!" the three Rangers shouted. Monty couldn't hear them but he knew without their aid that if he didn't hurry, even the lucky rabbit's foot given to him by the High Holy Hamster of Katmandu wouldn't help. So he jumped forward to the knot after which the next, intact section of the rope began.

His push turned out the final straw and the laces tore apart with unheard crack. Still, the Aussie managed to grip the knot and remained on the rope bidding his silent farewell to the malformed "Rolling Thunder" disappearing in the darkness behind. But his miseries didn't end here as the rope swung into action and Monty flew in the direction of furiously rotating giant wheels.

"MONTY!!!" the rest of the Rangers screamed as the Aussie disappeared in the mist of squirts enveloping the bottom of the gear post. The stretched line in their hands twitched and hanged loosely. Terrified, the three of them pulled it up fast. Very fast. Because Monterey was holding it no longer and he was nowhere to be seen…

"GOLLY!!! NO!!!" Gadget almost jumped down into the thick fog beneath them but Dale embraced her and held on the side holder. The mouse tried to break loose but the chipmunk held her tight and soon she leant back on him, exhausted, and burst into tears. Dale clasped her and Zipper to himself and looked away, trying hard to avoid looking down on the mist down below which devoured his friend.

"It's my fault…" Gadget lamented. "It's because of me… I asked him, asked hi-i-im…"

"Let's tie ourselves, guys…" Dale said. He unfastened the hook they needed no longer and threw it away. His words vanished in the roar of the engines but the mouse and the fly understood his gesture. Barely moving their limbs stiffen with cold and the general condition of emotional emptiness, they moved closer to the main post and started twisting the remaining rope around it.

The airliner almost reached the take-off speed and it was hard to hold on the post. That's why they carefully moved up to the post and let the head wind help them to throw the rope over it. The raindrops kept hitting them into their faces and flowed down, mixed with tears, as if the nature itself wanted to share their grief. The great pain and sorrow could be felt in the moans of the wind blowing through the open gear nacelle above their head as well as in the rapidly growing darkness and the clanging coming from inside the post, dull like the sound of tocsin.

Winning the fight against the rope, three Rangers fastened themselves tightly, embraced and sat silently thinking about different and yet the same things. After all these years Monterey Jack became not only a friend and a partner but a family member for them. A good uncle who saw many things and heard even more, and was always eager to help with deed or advice. He became an integral part of their lives. He seemed eternal and his loss was stunning.

Neither of them could believe he was gone. Neither Dale who mentally scolded himself of every single angry epithet he had told him after his cheese attacks. Nor Zipper who knew the muscle mouse long before the Rescue Rangers were formed. But their grief couldn't match Gadget's feelings, for after that conversation in the hospital workshop Monty became a second father to her who gave a meaning of life back to her.

The blonde mouse closed her eyes, again and again remembering his face and look and whispering, like a prayer, the words he said on that night, non-existent for others and unforgettable for her. She remembered them by heart but now got them confused and mixed up. Everything interfered, including, but not limited to, roar of the engines, the nagging ache in the chest, rigid rope which didn't allow breathing freely. But most of all ― that rhythmical clanging from inside the gear post.

Like the water dipping on the head, ran through the whole body making already disorganized thoughts to go away. Gadget even pressed her ears to the head with her paws but it didn't help for the sound was coming through vibrating metal she couldn't move away from. It became even worse because now, when the surrounding sounds became muffled, she started hearing voices. Soon Gadget understood that the darned clanging was the reason because it resembled Morse code so much she involuntarily listened to it trying to discern separate letters. But that wasn't the scariest. The scariest was that she _did discern_ them.

_I'm going mad…_ she decided. She tried to persuade herself that it wasn't Morse code but the sound of inner gear post's parts colliding, or small stones brought by the wind hitting it. But some part of her conscience continued to notice each hit adding it to the chain of dots and dashes, then letters, words, and finally phrases.

…**guys how are you up there not see you i am alright hope join you soon sorry for bad handwriting i hang upside down write with alpenstock your monty guys how are you…**

"MONTY!!!" the mouse shouted and pressed her ear to the post.

"HUH?! WHAT?!" Dale roused and would inevitably fall down if it weren't for the rope.

"It's Monty! He's down there!"

"REALLY?!" The chipmunk tried to look down but the line didn't allow him to bow. Gadget couldn't believe it either but as soon as she tapped the phrase "is it you monty" the clanging changed and formed the phrase "no a duck in sailor outfit sure me who else"

"OHMIGOSH!" Gadget hugged Dale tightly. "He's alive! Do you hear me! He's alive! Alive!!!"

"Where's he, where?!" Dale kept fighting with the rope trying to move at least a bit close to the edge. "Are you sure he's there?! I can't see him!!!"

"Me neither, Dale! We'll have to wait for the gear to retract!!!"

They didn't have to wait long. The airliner left the runway and almost immediately the gear post and the side holder started moving, bringing the still rotating wheels into the belly of the winged colossus. No sooner had the nacelle doors closed and the post had assumed horizontal position than the sound of quick steps was heard from the wheels' direction and the familiar bass sounded above our heroes' ears.

"Hello, friends! Hope I don't interfere, do I?"

"MONTY!!!" the trio shouted in chorus embracing their friend they considered KIA with all six hands at once.

"Okay, lads and lass, no fanaticism, please! You'll choke me…" Monty pleaded.

"Golly… Golly…" Gadget whispered adding her tears to the moisture his sweater was already soaked with. "Monty, you are alive! You… You… Gosh, you can't imagine how happy we are to see you! We were so worried…"

"That's me who was worried!" the Aussie said, barely holding back the tears. "I almost grinded my alpenstock off trying to tell you everything but you didn't responded…"

"Truth be told, we thought it was hallucination," Dale confessed.

"Hallucination…" Monty muttered. "You'd better…"

Boeing shook several times and the Aussie held on the post by some miracle only.

"…hold on!" he finished. "Now I see why they always ask to fasten your seatbelts…"

"Right, Monty! Tie yourself up and fast!" Gadget agreed. "Dale, Zipper, you'd better hold on, too! The worst is still to come!"

She was right and very soon the real chaos started. The atmospheric vortexes threw the heavy airliner daring to challenge the cyclone like the dry leaf and the four friends listened to the anguished roar of turbines and cracking of the hull in terror. Now the drive through the windblown airfield seemed a walk in the park. At that time everything depended on them and the hard work demanding all the concentration pushed the fear away. Now there was nothing to hold it at bay and it reigned supreme. At the end of the day, Rescue Rangers could do nothing but hold each other and wait patiently for the outcome of this duel between technology and nature. They did everything they could. Now their fate and the life of his friend depended on two pilots. Who, truth be told, already started wondering if they had overestimated themselves and their plane.

"Come on, baby, come on!" the captain shouted repeatedly. He had to apply titanic efforts to hold the yoke which tried to break out of his grip. After take-off he and the first officer pulled the yokes to climb faster and reach the clear skies. The hand of altimeter rotated so fast it covered the dial plate but the sky was still dark and weather radar showed nothing but muddy mass of dense cloudiness. They could only hope that the stormfront border was right there, just invisible behind the radarproof wall of thunderclouds. The highly electrified air around impaired radio signals, too, so the pilots could only blindly fly forward maintaining the course and praying for cyclone zone to end first, before the robustness of hull depleted.

"Captain, do you think she'll make it?" the co-pilot asked glancing nervously at the cabin pressure meter.

"She will!" the captain answered. "I've flown dozen of thousands hours on Jumbos and know for sure they are capable of even more! She'll make it! She should make it!"

Unlike the four stowaways occupying the gear nacelle, the co-pilot wasn't acquainted with Gadget Hackwrench and the captain's words didn't terrify but reassured him. Not too much, though, since the storm seemed endless and the communication with the ground worsened with each passing second.

"Jakarta-Departure, this is Alfa-Romeo-Charlie zero-seven-fourteen heavy, do you copy? Jakarta-Departure, this is Alfa-Romeo-Charlie zero-seven-fourteen heavy, do you copy?!"

"Alfa-Rom… fourteen… say… Jak… high… alt… …trol… Rep… …zero…"

"Jakarta-Departure, can't hear you! Repeat the last message, repeat your last message!"

"Jaka… Mess… alt… …hi…"

"This is Alfa-Romeo-Charlie zero-seven-fourteen heavy! We are at flight level three-eight-four! Heading zero-four-zero, speed four-nine-zero, repeat, heading zero-four-zero, speed four-nine-zero! Request information about cyclone's movement! How copy?"

"Alfa-Ro… SH-SH-shhhhh…"

"Jakarta-Departure, Alfa-Romeo-Charlie zero-seven-fourteen heavy, do you copy? Jakarta-Departure, do you read me? Jakarta-Departure, this is Alfa-Romeo-Charlie zero-seven-fourteen heavy, do you copy?! Do you copy?! No response, Captain!"

The elder pilot nodded. "I hear! All their transmitters are jammed! The cyclone must have reached them; they probably shut everything off and evacuated the tower. We are on our own!"

"How long is this cyclone's front?"

"An hour ago it was as wide as Jakarta, and now God only knows! There are many strong currents here, they feed it! It won't weaken until deep enough into the island! And we are flying straight into the ocean! So… HOLD HER!"

Especially powerful air blast hit the plane's starboard making her careen.

"Turn it up, turn it up!" the pilots shouted addressing both each other and the Boeing. Finally they managed to straighten the liner but it kept moving leftwards.

"We are carried to the center!" the co-pilot screamed.

"Good news ― these vortexes are formed on the border of the cyclone," the captain observed.

"And the bad news?"

"The closer to the edge, the stronger they become!"

In support of his claim Boeing shook harder than before. The pilots prepared to fight another bank but they had to deal with a steep dive instead which plane entered, falling into a vortex cavity right in front of her.

"Thirty-five thousand and decreasing!" the co-pilot informed but while he was saying the phrase the information became obsolete by thousand feet minimum.

"Come on! Pull up! Pull up, baby!" the captain urged on his light-alloy bird. But she decided to give him trouble it seemed.

"Thirty thousand and decreasing!"

"If we don't straighten out until ten thousands we are history!" the captain stated, and pointed at the absolutely black clouds they were rapidly falling into. The co-pilot nodded silently. At lower heights the turbulent vortexes were stronger because of the Earth's proximity whose rotation was the main power source feeding air masses. Everything they encountered so far was only a weak echo of really ruthless eddies.

"Twenty-two thousands and decreasing! The speed of descent increases! We're pulled in!!!"

"Engines to full power!"

"No, we'll go there even faster!"

"DO IT!"

Barely holding their crazy yokes, the pilots pushed the tight handle of engine controls into the utmost position. The liner darted forward, ramming through the moisture clots thrown at her by the wind.

"Fifteen thousands and decreasing, captain!"

"Turn right! Right!"

"Yes, sir! What's there?"

"We must catch the ascending air flow, or else we won't stop… GOTCHA!"

A powerful blow hit the bottom of the airliner. Like a heavy-weight boxing champion's upper-cut, it forced Boeing to turn up her nose. Even the pilots jumped up despite being tightly fastened.

"To the left, quickly, before we get into spin!" the captain ordered and two of them straightened the plane out. The altimeter's hand stopped at 11.200 and started moving in the opposite direction.

"Go up to twenty thousand! Heading zero-seven-five!"

"Twenty thousand, zero-seven-five, acknowledged!" the co-pilot reported cheerfully. "Captain, you are genius! How did you know that the air flow is to the right?"

His partner loosened his tie and rubbed his stiffened neck. "I didn't know it. It could be to the left with equal chances, but we couldn't have torn apart, could we?"

"Couldn't, captain! Don't you think the tempest subsides?"

Indeed, although the bumpiness remained, it was dead calm in comparison with what they felt just a minute ago. But the captain darkened and ordered.

"Try to contact somebody! We'll need help!"

"But we almost escaped the cyclone!"

"I'm afraid, no. We just got into a pocket between two adjacent eddies. If we are lucky, it'll get us to the clear sky. If not ― to the very center of the cyclone. It depends on how exactly the vortex spins. We need communication with somebody. Plane, ship, radio amateur ― anybody! Start with local civilian channels!"

"Got it, captain!"

The co-pilot switched the receiver from Soekarno-Hatta Airport's frequency to the common band. "This is Alfa-Romeo-Charlie zero-seven-fourteen heavy! I'm in the zone of tropical cyclone approximately three hundred fifty miles north of Djakarta! I need help, I repeat, I need help! Does anyone copy? Nothing but the static, captain!"

"Yeah, there are not many fools in this world who'd stick their head in here… Go on scanning the whole waveband!"

"Okay. All ships and planes in Jakarta area! This is Alfa-Romeo-Charlie zero-seven-fourteen heavy…!"

After repeating his radiogram on all the common band frequencies without any success, the co-pilot switched to 121.5 MHz ― the emergency frequency for civilian airliners. He didn't really expect to find help there after failure with the common band, potentially monitored by more people and agencies. All commercial flights in the area were cancelled beforehand so the chances of finding another plane in distress nearby which had been able to establish contact with the ground and would assist them were slim at best. Still he tried. What if they weren't the only mad heads in the area?

Turned out, they weren't. Far from it.

"Alfa-Romeo-Charlie zero-seven-fourteen heavy, do you copy? Alfa-Romeo-Charlie zero-seven-fourteen heavy, do you hear me? Alfa-Romeo-Charlie zero-seven-fourteen heavy, respond! Calling Alfa-Romeo-Charlie zero-seven-fourteen heavy…!"

At first the pilots didn't believe their ears. Not only did the unknown voice sound impossibly clear which indicated that he was either very close or had extremely powerful transmitter, but he also called exactly them!

"Alfa-Romeo-Charlie zero-seven-fourteen heavy is here!" co-pilot shouted into his mike. "Have you loud and clear! Who and where are you?"

A loud sigh of relief came from the other side of radio waves.

"Alfa-Romeo-Charlie zero-seven-fourteen, at long last! USS 'George Washington' speaking! We've been trying to find you for at least half an hour!"

Captain and co-pilot exchanged bewildered glances.

"We had some problems, 'George Washington'," the captain responded. "I'm glad you happened to be nearby!"

"Guys from Jakarta asked us to look after two lost souls not sane enough to fight the nature! Hope you don't mind?"

"Absolutely, 'Washington!' We need to get out of this washing machine and fast!"

"Acknowledged, Alfa-Romeo-Charlie zero-seven-fourteen! We're sending Hawkeye to you to be your guide! Switch to 244 MHz and follow the signal! And descend to level one-two-zero if you don't want to fly into a sky centrifuge of sorts! How copy?"

"Alfa-Romeo-Charlie zero-seven-fourteen, acknowledged! Frequency 244, level one-two-zero! Following the beacon!" Captain reported and turned to his partner. "What do you think of it? Never flew by the AWACS signal, didn't you?"

The man shook his head. "Never! We've been searched by 'George Washington' herself! Unbelievable!"

"If she were by herself that would be unbelievable!" the captain corrected him, turning the plane towards the signal.

He was right. As soon as Boeing left the clouds a magnificent view opened before them. It was good to see the panorama of starry sky and ocean's surface crossed by moon's light after the horrors they went through. But the most impressive part of it was the constellation of navigation lights belonging to the radar plane which lead them back to the light and was now preparing to land in the one and only airport of an isle state located to the portside. This 'state' consisted of five smaller 'isles' of escort ships and enormous central 'isle' of nuclear-powered Nimitz-class supercarrier 'George Washington' which, like Gulliver surrounded by Lilliputians, was furrowing the seas in all her presidential glory.

"Look, sir! It's―"

Captain smiled. "Observe and remember, Charlie! That's how carrier strike group on the march looks like!"

"Alfa-Romeo-Charlie zero-seven-fourteen, 'Washington' here. Nice to meet you on this side!"

"Thank you, 'Washington', we are happy being here!"

"Have a nice flight and good luck! 'Washington' out!"

"Thanks for your help, Alfa-Romeo-Charlie zero-seven-fourteen out!" the captain answered. Then he took his headphones off and turned to his partner. "Climb to one-five-zero, then contact area traffic controller and ask for permission to occupy level three-zero-zero. I'll go refresh myself."

"Sure, sir! As they say, God bless this country and its Navy, the helping hand in every part of the world!"

His superior smiled. "Exactly, Charlie! Though I must say if I was into all these conspiracy theories I'd decide that someone up there is willing to kill for this kidney," he pointed at the ceiling.

Charlie shrugged. "Well, we're flying to San-Angeles, there are plenty of celebrities there!"

"Celebrities, you say?" Captain hemmed. "Well, maybe you are right. But if I know anything about how this life works, only a handful of people have enough power to send a carrier strike group from Yokosuka here to search for an aircraft lost in the cyclone… Don't mind it though!" he added quickly when his co-pilot stared at him in shock. "Switch to auto-pilot and try to relax at least a bit. We'll need our nerves to land her, okay!"

"Okay, captain!"

The younger pilot turned to the dashboard and the captain went to refresh himself before a short sleep. Four rodents in the nacelle of the left inner gear also tried to relax after all the calamities of the flight **(****)**.

**(**** The ****author is aware that flying in the non-hermetic gear nacelle on the Boeing's echelon will most probably result in death either from frostbite or suffocation. Nevertheless, as the cartoon 'The Rescuers Down Under' suggests, this way of transportation is perfectly fine in the world of Disney cartoons)**

"Yeah, that was the ride of the rides, mates!" Monterey Jack stretched limbering up his numb muscles. "A bonzer story to remember some day!"

"Tell us how you survived the take-off!" Dale asked and pinched him on the ear. Actually, he wanted to tug him at his sleeve but missed in the dark.

"Luck and skill, boy! I slid between those wheels like a sand grain between the millstones! This reminds me o' the time the Hanoi Tower crashed on me when I tried to reach a piece of goat cheese on the upper shelf! I almost…"

"Stop-stop-stop!" Dale broke him off. "You tried to reach the shelf from the top of the tower? That's quite a big shelving they got there in Hanoi! I'd like to have that one to store my comic collections!"

"No, Dale," Gadget corrected him. "Hanoi Tower is a riddle consisting of three rods and rings of different diameter stacked in order on one of the rods, from the largest on the bottom to the smallest on top. The task is to move all the rings onto another rod using as little moves as possible and only one ring a turn can be moved."

"True!" Monty confirmed. "That's why I had to move all the rings onto the rod closest to the shelf! Eight walks with nephrite disks is not a joke, especially when you are hungry!"

Gadget knitted her brows. "You mean, there were only three disks?"

"Three? I wouldn't have seen the cheese from that height! There were eight of them!"

"No, Monty, it's impossible!" Gadget objected. "You'd need at least two hundred fifty five moves to transfer them all!"

The muscle mouse shrugged. "I won't argue, maybe you are right. I just moved them in the same order I took them off. Maybe that's because the rod broke, who knows…"

"As for me, I know one thing!" Dale announced. "It's enough adventures for today!"

"Agreed!" Monterey joined him. "Let's hop it wasn't for nothin'…"

"It wasn't," Gadget said quietly but firmly. "I know. I feel it."

"Well, then I think we better have a sleep. Travelers must restore their strength at any given opportunity, and we'll probably need them tomorrow."

"Yes, Monty, more than that."

"Don't worry, Gadget!" Dale touched her shoulder. "Everything will be okay! We'll be there on time!"

"Yes, Dale, of course!"

Gadget closed her eyes and put her head down on Monty's coat he twisted into a roll used by all of them as a pillow of sorts. "Hold on, Chip! We're coming! We'll be there soon! Please, hold on!" she asked mentally, already falling asleep.

*** 4 ***

_December 20__th__, morning_

Aside from a couple of air pockets and a jet lag, the flight to San-Angeles went smoothly. The skill of pilots made landing safe while the "green corridor" arranged by air traffic controllers made it fast. The ways of Boeing and Rescue Rangers parted almost immediately after the touchdown with the former heading to the cargo terminal and Red Cross helicopter awaiting there while the former ran to the main building to catch the nearest flight to their home city.

"Quickly, quickly!" Gadget kept saying. Her friends responded with positive interjections. They too wanted to get home as fast as possible, especially Dale who was dressed for different climatic region and got chilled. Their plane, United white-blue Airbus, was at the terminal already and they met the takeoff with unanimous sigh of relief, so loud that other passengers looked at them blaming.

"Oh, sorry! We just badly needed to catch this plane!" Monterey apologized for himself and his friends and the incident was settled.

The flight took an hour and half during which the Rangers exchanged several matter-of-fact phrases with Dale, Monterey and Zipper doing most of talking. At first Gadget said a couple of out of place phrases, too, but then grew silent, too worried to carry on a conversation. The airliner seemed to hang still in the air and the humming of his engines sounded like pre-recorded imitation. Mostly dark clothes of other passengers also lead to unpleasant analogies. That's why this time Gadget ran to the nacelle doors long before landing. Pressing her face to the window in hermetic doors, she looked at the city down below and wished she had brought her parachute with her.

Just like in Jakarta, Rescue Rangers didn't wait for the plane to stop completely and ran to the bus stops.

"Excuse me!" Gadget asked a portly old female mouse wearing thin glasses who sat in the information booth made in the base of the lamp post. "I'd like to know…"

"The bus to Portero Hill departs in eight minutes from terminal fourteen," the station assistant answered wearily.

"But I don't need to go to Portero Hill!" Gadget objected, then she chilled. "Wait, but…Why did you say Portero Hill?"

"Because nine out of ten incoming passengers go there today," the mouse answered and pointed at the large group of rodents in black. Monterey Jack and Dale coming along with them looked like two flashes of light in the night.

"What happened?"

"Harold Bucksup the Third passed away, may he rest in peace."

"Harold Buck― Golly! And where…?"

"The funeral ceremony and the cremation will be held today at 9 AM at the Small Central Hospital," another studied answer came.

"At nine…" Gadget repeated slowly. "Thanks… Oh, I forgot! How long we'll have to wait for the next bus to the City Park?"

"Very long if you don't make haste. Terminal eleven, departure in one minute."

"Thank you very much! Quickly, guys! Terminal eleven!"

"Oh boy, here we run again…" Monty grumbled craving for some rest. "I haven't traveled in such hurry-scurry since…"

"Come on, Monty, we're almost… EEW!" Dale coughed when the smoke from under bus' bumper hit his nostrils.

"Wait for us!" the chipmunk cried at the already moving bus. Sure his scream was unheard but lucky for them it was backed up by a young and very persistent young man who didn't just shout but also knocked at the doors. The driver surrendered and braked down, allowing the Rangers to catch up with the vehicle.

"I'm getting too old for this stuff…" Monty groaned rolling over the bumper's edge.

"Don't say non-sense, Monty!" Dale reassured him. "It's because the humans make the bumpers higher each year to make the buses safer! Am I right, Gadget?"

"Could be. Harold Bucksup the Third died."

"See, Monty? Just what I― WHAT?!" Dale's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "You mean, THAT Harold Bucksup the Third?!"

"Yup, that one. The attendant told me."

"And I wondered why everyone wears the black colors…" Monty pointed at the rodents in mourning they left behind.

"Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy…" the chipmunk grew overagitated. "He was in the same section as Chip! You think there's a connection?"

Gadget nodded. "I'm inclined more and more towards it. But first things first ― HQ! Even if it was a malfunction caused by system overload, something must have overloaded system for the overload to happen in the first place… I mean, in many places at the same time because load of one place isn't an overload… Uhm, scratch that! Come on, piece of iron, faster!"

The impatient mouse punched the bus with her fist. Another cloud of smoke burst out from the bumper and the vehicle sped up.

"You can when you want," Gadget tenderly clapped the bus' rear light and its speed increased even more. Dale, Monty and Zipper exchanged entranced glances.

"They really obey her…" Dale whispered. "She's got the Mechanic's Touch!"

"Street magic!" Aussie said knowingly. Zipper buzzed something skeptically materialistic, but not very confidently.

When the bus stopped at the streetlight next to the park, Rescue Rangers jumped down and went the rest of the way on four limbs. During morning rush hour the streets were filled with people and cars but the park was deserted, especially if you kept away from the broad alley running from the northern to the eastern gates. It was the shortest path between subway station and the cable car terminal and in mornings and evenings it was flooded with people wishing to cut the extra corner.

Although there were no more then one hundred feet between the square where the Rangers' tree stood and the main alley, you could bet they were separated by several miles at least ― so quiet and deserted it was. The heroic four couldn't dream of better conditions especially now, when they carefully moved towards their Headquarters, looking at every move and listening into every sound.

"What's there, Gadget? See anything?" Dale asked when the inventor stopped observing the ventilation shaft location through the binoculars. Without a word Gadget handed him binoculars and Dale saw with his own eyes that the grating and a piece of crust covering it were torn out and dangling on two side hinges.

"Good news: nobody larger than me can fit in there," Dale said passing the optics to Monty.

The Aussie brightened. "You mean, no cats? In that case we'll deal with those bonkers with no prob― uh, fast!"

"Yes, the faster the better," Gadget agreed. "But no rush. Zipper! Check the windows!"

Little Ranger was hungry for action and met the reconnaissance assignment with a happy squeak. Having examined all the windows in five minutes he returned to his friends. He saw no one, all windows were intact with no traces of infiltration.

"Either malfunction or a trap!" experienced Monty concluded. "How would we enter? Group or one by one?"

Gadget thought for a moment.

"Group is more reliable but one by one means quicker search. The speed is paramount but this way we are more vulnerable. We need communication and weapons. They are stored in the workshop. We can go together to the workshop, arm ourselves and separate. What do you think?"

Everybody agreed and went forward. Dale climbed up the tree and threw the rope down allowing Gadget and Monty to go up. Switching off security system Gadget opened the workshop gates. The low humming of electromotor bringing steel shutter up sounded like a roar of Boeing engines but nobody came and the workshop was empty. Which could mean that the probable enemy was smarter than they wished and wasn't going to run headlong to the first noise out there, waiting for his victims to come to him by themselves instead. Rescue Rangers could try to play nerve games and hide in the workshop but time worked against them and they were forced to make the first move.

They equipped themselves with vibro-transceivers for communication, glasscutters for close combat and pneumatic pistols armed with plunger arrows as a main weapon. Highly pressurized air in the pistols turned the arrows into rodent analog of rubber bullets, quite effective in the close quarters.

The team left the workshop and separated. Gadget and Zipper remained on the third level while Monterey and Dale went downstairs. For greater effect Monty skidded down via the slide while Dale ran downstairs. But these maneuvers did nothing because nobody was in the hall, too.

Only the lower level remained. Holding weapons in front of them and keeping the other arm next to transceivers' buttons, the Rangers started descending, trying to walk along the edge of the stairs and breathe quietly. At the bottom of the stairs they talked in signs. The Aussie took the kitchen and Dale went to check his and Chip's room. After that the friends should have met at the hangar doors and search the 'hottest' part of HQ according to the alarm system readings.

The first thing Dale saw upon entering the room was piles of clothes and other things on chairs, bed and floor. On the departure night he had too little time and patience to put them back into the wardrobe so their presence wasn't strange at all (though Dale secretly hoped they would vanished during his absence and sighed with disappointment). But the sight of the audio disks scattered on the floor in front of the shelf terrified him and he ran to check if the A-Kha disks were in place. They were and he sighed loudly. The next moment his ears caught quiet creaking coming from behind him. He turned around and saw the wardrobe's door opening and…

"GHOST!" he shouted backing away from the figure emerging from the wardrobe. It wore white clothes and its pale face was framed by disheveled shaggy hair.

"Mister Dale…" the ghost uttered hoarsely.

"Don't approach me!!!" Dale pressed his back against the shelf and pointed his weapon at the evil spirit's chest. "I don't have the cassette! And I won't give you my disks!"

The figure made two steps towards him. "Mister Dale! Please, listen to me…"

Rescue Ranger, slightly calmed down under his pistol's defense, looked at the spirit closer and found out it was a chipmunk. Female chipmunk, to be precise, and quite pretty. If you don't mind distorted hair and spots of yellow dust on her face and white gown.

"Wh-who are you?" Dale asked, charmed by the look of her grey eyes widened with fear and light after having spent long time in the wardrobe. She opened her mouth to answer but then the room's door swung opened. First Monty flew in with his pistol and a frying pan he grabbed from the kitchen in his hands. He was followed by Gadget with her trusted crossbow at the ready and Zipper armed with the smallest screwdriver he found in the workshop.

"Dale, what― Who are you?! What are you doing here?!" the Aussie demanded.

"Gosh…" the uninvited guest whispered. "All of you… You are back… You returned…"

"Who are you?!" Monty repeated his question more menacingly. He stepped to her but Gadget stopped him with her gesture and ran up to the familiar nurse. Too familiar, to tell the truth.

"Millie? What are you doing here?"

The nurse was astonished. "Master Gadget… You― You know me?" The other Rangers were equally startled and asked in unison. "You know her?!"

The mouse explained "This is Mildred Munkched, the nurse from SCH. She taught me to make cof― erhm, forget it! Millie, what happened? Where's Chip? Does it have anything to do with the death of Harold Bucksup the Third?"

"Death…" Mildred repeated. "Gosh they… They killed him…"

She staggered and fell into Dale's arms who barely managed to catch her.

"What's with Chip?! What's with my friend?!" he shouted. There was no answer and he turned to Gadget. "What's with her?!"

"I'm no doctor but looks like she swooned! Lay her on the bed! Monty, bring some water! I'll get the first aid kit…!"

*** 5 ***

The events that followed passed into the history of Rescue Rangers as the prominent example of blisteringly rapid and totally efficient operational deployment. Twenty minutes at most elapsed from Mildred regaining her conscience after moral and physical breakdown and the Ranger Wing breaking through the crematorium window. In total it took two hours eighteen minutes from Ranger's landing in the International Airport to loading Chip and Harold Bucksup on the electrocars. Still, it was no more than a prelude to the major battle.

Following instructions of Dr. Spivey actively saving his bacon, the workers of chemical lab prepared everything needed for medicamental reanimation. Their colleagues led by Doctor Stone himself and Dr. Hugh Sterham were doing everything possible to revive the Ranger and the old patron. But so far the efforts of both teams yielded no results, and the screens of both cardiographs showed flat lines with monotonous beeping of alarm signal coming from their dynamics.

"Change!" the team leaders ordered periodically and the nurseman too tired to maintain the steady 100 pressings per minute rhythm of closed-chest cardiac massage stepped aside. He was instantly changed by his colleague and another round of fight for life started. The medical workers were too preoccupied to take their black bands off which looked very out of place but there was no place for symbolism here.

Everybody was wet with sweat, their legs and backs felt stiff. But it was nothing compared to the feelings of Rescue Rangers. They stood at the ward's window, green with envy of Mildred Munkched who was taking active part in the revival process. Their help wasn't needed to interrogate Spivey because the hamster was so eager to help he had to be made not start but stop talking. Then again, nothing, even the strongest of earthquakes, would force them to leave. Not from here, not now, when the only thing they could think of was the possibility that soporific overdose, lack of air and chloroform's dense vapours had extinguished the last sparks of his friend's life making all the efforts useless…

"Come on, Chip!" Dale shouted to his friend lying still in the ward. "Get up! Wake up! Revive! Please!"

"Please, Chip… Please…" Gadget kept asking. She pressed her face to the glass in order not to miss anything, time and again wiping off the tears with her sleeve.

"Gadget, luv, everythin' will be okay!" Monty tried to console her.

"Sure, Monty, I know…"

Screams of joy were heard from the adjacent ward where another team was working. Soon the doors opened and two members of the team drove the gurney with Harold Bucksup to the exit. Doctor Stone came out next, wiping the sweat from his face heated with hard struggle and smiling tiredly. But when he saw the faces of the Rangers his smile vanished and he quickly came up to them.

"No changes, I presume."

At the moment Monterey Jack was team's temporary leader so he did the talking. "Nothin'. And Mister Harold is fine, I see. "

"Yes, we managed to restore his heart's functionality. Took us three atropine sulphate-based mixture injection and two charges to…"

"Charges!" Gadget jumped up. "Golly, doctor, sure! Defibrillation!"

"Yes! Certainly! Defibrillation! Why don't they do it?!" Dale joined in, no longer scared by the term 'defibrillation' and everything associated with it. Helping Gadget with medical equipment and regular watching of "ER" and "House MD" really paid off.

The doctor spoke quietly but his words were deafening. "Because in the case of your friend it won't help."

Gadget couldn't understand it. "What do you mean?! Sure it will! It always does! It helped Mister Harold!"

"Yes, but only because his heart never really stopped in the first place. The analyzer you built detects even the smallest quantities of extraneous substances in blood. Spivey wanted his death look natural, that's why he used experimental non-benzodiazepine which wasn't in the database and is quickly absorbed by the organism which makes his detection almost impossible. It slowly suppressed the CNS, including the nerves regulating the chest movement and heart rhythm, and would eventually stop them completely thus depriving the brain of oxygen and killing it.

"But to do this the doze should have been thirty times greater than usual which for such hardy and weighty mouse as Mister Harold roughly equals two human ampoules. They didn't have that much, and the forced pause allowed his organism to rebuild somewhat. Just two more injections and everything would have been over…"

"And what they injected Chip with?"

"Methylphenobarbital, a barbiturate derivative. Humans seldom use those, if only for short-term anesthesia and preventing some types of epileptic attacks. But it was manufactured in large quantities and is easy to obtain. We use it widely and that's why Spivey chose it. This drug act harder and its lethal doze is only ten times larger than normal, so―"

"But why don't you apply defibrillation?!!" Gadget yelled so loudly the medics in the ward turned around. "If the charge is powerful enough, it will restart even the long stopped heart!"

The old doctor sighed sorrowfully. "In films, yes. But in the real life defibrillation is useful in several cases only, and only one of them, so called pulseless ventricular tachycardia, involves asystole, that is, full heart stopping. But your friend has barbiturate overdose accompanied by breath and heart stops. Only two things can help him now ― atropine injections and cardiac massage. Only when the sinoatrial node starts working again producing at least some electric impulses the defibrillator theoretically, I want to stress it, only theoretically can make it work normally. But before that using defibrillator would be just a waste of electricity…"

"WASTE OF ELECTRICITY?! YOU GRUDGE A BIT OF ELECTRICITY, YES?!!" Gadget screamed. She would have jump at Stone if Monty and Dale hadn't grabbed her by her paws. The mouse jerked several times but fit of rage went away even faster then it developed. She shook, buried her face into Aussie's sweater and cried.

"Golly… He… Monty… Golly-y-y…"

"Gadgie, this means nothing…" Monty answered, also barely holding his tears. "It's nothing…"

"Yes! That's nothing! Nothing! NOTHING!!!" Gadget shook violently. "We are late! We still came late! Everything was useless…"

Dale turned to the window and saw one of the nursemen who was doing the cardiac massage looking at Dr. Sterham and shaking his head. The doctor, in turn, glanced at the watch and lowered his eyes.

"What…" he stuttered. "What is this, doc? They… They…"

"The reanimation has lasted for a very long time, Mister Dale, and with no results."

"Inject more of this your atropine! That will surely do!"

"He has been injected with the maximum doze allowed for chipmunks of this weight. It's painful for me to say that, but…"

"NO!!! CHIP!!!"

Gadget's spurt caught other Ranger's off-guard and she managed to break free. For a second, no more, but it was enough for her to reach the ward's doors in one leap. They opened into the corridor, though, and it took Gadget a quarter of a second more than it should have, allowing others to pull her back from the doors despite violent resistance.

"LET ME GO! LET ME TO HIM!!! I NEED TO GO TO HIM!!!" Gadget burst in shouts and tears. Dale, Monty and Zipper were on the verge of crying, too, but held her tightly, knowing that their hysteric friend would only make things worse.

Unlike Gadget, nobody held Mildred who was sitting in the corner of the room. In fact, everybody forgot about her right until she yelled "GO AWAY FROM HIM!!!" The former nurse jumped up to the nurseman disconnecting Chip from the equipment, pulled him away and started fiercely hitting Ranger's chest with her fist.

"Miss Munkched, what are you― DOCTOR!!!" The nurseman shouted. Sterham nodded at his two subordinates and they moved towards Millie. She saw it with a corner of her eye and looked at them with such a killing stare it was clear any attempt to take her away from the bed would and in bloody mayhem. The members of reanimation team exchanged glances and moved towards rebellious nurse in a flock but then Gadget's piercing shout stopped them.

"WAIT!!! LISTEN!!!"

Stone approached her, cautiously maintaining safe distance. "Miss Hackwrench, I'm terribly sorry but…"

"Gosh, doc!!! Don't you hear it?! The signal is DISCONTINUOUS!"

Everybody stopped and listened carefully to the beeping of cardiograph. Stine even entered the ward for better hearing, but just shook his head.

"I understand your feelings, Miss Hackwrench, but…"

"It's not about me, doctor! It's about cardiograph! Guys, let me go! Come on! Please!!!"

Other Rangers exchanged glances of doubt but released their grips. Gadget, free as a bird, dashed towards cardiograph and pressed her face to its screen. It so resembled a desperate leap at the coffin's lid that even the most hard-hearted spectators were moved and had tears in their eyes. Except Gadget who turned around and ordered, her face resolute and eyes dry.

"DEFIBRILLATE HIM NOW! QUICKLY!!!"

"But Master!" Stone shouted. "Until the sinoatrial node works…"

"IT WORKS!" Gadget yelled in response, pointing with her finger at the upper part of the line running across the screen. "If you look closer you'll see it! His heart works!!!"

"But there's nothing there…"

The inventor stamped her foot impatiently. "Don't stand and stare! I'll explain everything later! COME ON, DO SOMETHING!"

"Attention! Urgent defibrillation!" Stone announced. At his command reanimatologists took two electrodes of stationary defibrillator from the shelf above the bed and pressed them to Chip's chest.

"CLEAR!" the nurseman holding the electrodes called. His partner moved a large wall switcher down. Chip's body jerked and a short wave ran across the screen. The alarm signal stopped for moment but then switched back on.

"Increase the voltage and repeat!" Stone ordered.

"Come on, Chip!" Dale shouted knocking at the glass ― he ran back to the window to see everything better. "You can do it! You are strong! Don't even think of dy… Don't even think of it, do you hear me?!"

"Hold on, lad! Fight! We believe in you!" Monty roared like ship's horn from the threshold.

"_Revive! Revive!_" Zipper squeaked so piercingly it seemed the glass would shatter.

"Please, Chip… Please…" Gadget kept whispering. She felt something like that when Morgan was lying on a similar bed and when not only his life but also Dale's destiny was at stake. But everything was much scarier now…

"CLEAR!"

Short wave, brief pause, alarm goes on.

"Repeat!"

"COME ON, CHIP! COME ON!"

"DON'TCHA LET US DOWN, LAD!"

"BZ-BZ-BZZZZZZZZZZZZ!!!"

"Please, Chip… Don't go… Come back… I need you… Please…"

"CLEAR!"

Wave, pause, siren…

"Increase and repeat!"

"It's the maximum!" the operator reported.

"Repeat!"

"Doctor, it's no use! We're just frying him!" the nurseman holding electrodes protested.

"MOVE AWAY!" Millie shouted into his ear and grabbed the handles. Nurseman didn't let go but Sterham exchanged glances with Stone and commanded: "Martin, gave her the electrodes!"

"But she doesn't even know how to use them!"

"I know it better than you!" the female chipmunk snarled back at him. "If you can't do it, don't interfere! Step away or you'll get hit! CLEAR!"

Same wave, same pause, same siren. Everything's the same.

"COME ON, CHIP, WAKE UP!" Millie shouted into his apathetic face. "I don't let you go, hear me?! I forbid you to go! CLEAR!"

Wave. Pause. Siren…

No. Not siren. Rhythmic beeping accompanying a sinuous line on the screen, deafened instantly by a scream of joy which shook the entire hospital.

"Hurray! Hurray!" the reanimation team shouted and fell on the floor, exhausted. Mildred was crying out loud, Dr. Sterham and Dr. Stone didn't hide their tears, too. Only Rescue Rangers shouted nothing, unable to produce a sound. They just gathered in the center of the ward, embracing and at the same time holding each other up, watching the curve drawn by the machine.

"Don't relax!" the head of the SCH announced when the first wave of euphoria subsided. In the last few minutes the quantity of white strands in his fur doubled, and now it was hard to tell where his gown ended and his body began. "Hugh! Complete blood transfusion and lung ventilation!"

"Got it, Harvey! Okay, lazy bones, move up!" Sterham clapped his paws loudly urging everyone to get back to work. "We're transferring to Rehabilitation! Quickly, quickly!"

The hospital workers jumped up and started disconnecting Chip from the equipment. Mildred, still standing with the electrodes in her hands, put them back on the shelf and approached Stone.

"Doctor Stone," she asked, rubbing her face with her sleeve. "Please, allow me to―"

"Sure, Millie!" the old mouse said without hearing her out. "Go with them! They'll need your expertise!"

"That is, you mean, I'm… I'm not fired?"

"We'll get back to the question later, if you don't mind. As of now, consider yourself in indefinite leave due to… personal matters, to nurse the heavily ill significant other. Are you fine with this?"

She smiled and hugged Stone. "Sure, doctor! More than that!"

"Okay, okay!" old doctor patted her back. "Please, forgive me for believing Spivey and not you. Now go! You know better than me what to do there!"

"Thank you, doctor Stone!" Millie squeezed his paw once more and shouted to others. "To the Fourth Intensive! And prepare six portions of blood! Go!"

The team obeyed and drove Chip down the same route as Harold Bucksup was brought earlier. Gadget told her friends to follow the gurney and ran to Stone nervously cleaning his glances.

"Golly, doctor! I dunno how to thank you! Thank you, thank you for everything!"

Mouse doctor shook his head. "Not at all, Master. You saved him, not me. How you did it? What did you see? The cardiograph showed nothing!"

"It showed," Gadget objected. "That's why the alarm signal stopped for a very short time like later, during defibrillation, but much shorter, almost indistinguishable!"

"But there was nothing on the screen!"

"Oh, sure there was! Very small knobs, seen only from the minimal distance. You see, doctor, I build all everything from parts of old human equipment."

Stone frowned. "In other words, it isn't good for the animals?"

"No, quite the contrary, it's very good! I modify every detail to make it useful for the patients like me and you. Just like you modify the human medicines in your lab! For instance, I made the scope of signals registered by cardiograph by changing coefficients of operational magnifier's divider by adding another resistor and capacitor with greater capacity… I hope I don't confuse it…"

"Okay, okay, Master, I got it!" Stone stopped her from falling into a recursion trap. "What was the problem then?"

"In the screen. It's resolution doesn't allow to show very weak signals bordering on the noise, and this time it showed not entire wave but only amplitude neighborhood. I thought this resolution should have been enough but, as you can see, it wasn't and it almost cost yur patient and my friend life… But don't worry; I'll fix that in a jiffy!"

"I know, Master!" Stone assured her and once again took out his handkerchief. "But to tell the truth even after your explanation I don't understand how we managed to revive Mister Chip. After such a long asystole there were no chances to turn his heart back on…"

Gadget shrugged. "Wmidunno! I'm inventor, not a doctor! So it's up to you! Thank you again for listening to me and forgive me for confusing you! Okay, gotta run!"

She left Stone standing in the center of the room and wondering, and ran to the Rehabilitation Section. By this time Chip was moved onto the bed and Mildred and Sterham watched him connected to life support systems and blood transfusion device. When everything was set and done Stewart appeared running. He was about to bring the blood from the bank and his troubled face meant he brought bad news.

"Golly, something must be wrong again…" Gadget whispered, shaking, and ran to Mildred, Sterham and Stewart coming out of the ward.

"Doctor, Millie! What happened?!"

"Bad news, Master," chief reanimatologist answered. "We don't have the needed blood."

Gadget couldn't believe what she had heard. "How can it be?! When I donated blood last time, they told me they lacked mouse blood but no problem with the chipmunks'!"

"Indeed, there are three full shelves," Stewart agreed. "But it can't be transfused to Mister Chip. His blood test showed significant departure from the norm and after comparing it with all the samples we have here the analyzer concluded that the rejection possibility is 85% in the best case! We can't risk it!"

"Departure from the norm? You mean… Ohmigosh!!! Tell me it's not radiation sickness, please!!!" Gadget grabbed lab mouse's hand. She remembered the Bottlebottom mission and now the anti-radiation suits she built then looked like a weapon of murder to her. But Stewart dispelled her fears.

"No-no, it's not leukemia. It's something inborn, on the chromosome sets level. It's perfectly safe but, unfortunately, makes blood transfusion impossible except with his own blood or that of the closest relatives. Can you get in touch with them?"

Everybody looked at Dale.

"What? I doncha know nothing!" the large-nosed chipmunk shook his head.

"But ya know 'im much longer then we do!" Monty exclaimed.

"Yeah, but I never met his parents! He never talked much about them, just that they live somewhere to the north and he left home early 'cause he got bored and was hungry for adventures! That's all… Maybe you'll take my blood?"

"But you aren't relative!" Sterham protested.

"No, I'm not! But we've known each other for so long and went through so much together we can be considered brothers! So I'm not a relative but not too much! Not really not a relative, I mean!"

Doctor's and lab mouse's faces were the epitome of skepticism but Mildred said peremptory. "What are you waiting for?! Run all the tests, faster!"

Sterham was moved by her determination. "She's, right, Stewart!"

"Okay, doctor! Mister Dale, follow me!"

They were absent for half an hour which seemed like eternity for everyone else. But when they finally appeared, the light of joy on their faces could be seen from the far end of the corridor.

"It's phenomenal!" Stewart shouted from the doors. "The rejection probability is less then one percent!"

"Oh my!" Sterham expressed common surprise. "Even one of the parents would have lesser compatibility rank! Mister Dale, you sure you aren't relatives?"

"No! We even have different surnames!" Dale joked dancing joyfully. The others responded with an outburst of laughter which even Dale considered inadequate reaction for his simple jest. But this sincere, albeit somewhat exaggerated joy was very important, marking the threshold after which you know for sure that the worst was left behind.

"Surname or not, but you are a perfect donor!" Sterham said. "Don't go anywhere, we'll begin soon!"

No time was wasted and very soon Dale was lying on the gurney by Chip's bed. For a fidget like Dale this period of complete stillness was like a torture but he overcame everything and came out of it with a credit. Besides, there were no reasons for him to be grief now. Quite the contrary, he was finally able to catch his breath, look back at the latest events like a rapt optimist and finally clarify some moments. When all procedures were done and Mildred joined them in the anteroom, he pelted her with compliments and questions.

"Millie, you are great! Real hero! It was fantastic! I am wordless! How did you know Chip's in the coffin?! HOW?!"

"Yes-yes! How?!" the others joined in.

"Well, you see, yesterday in the library Spivey confessed he took the idea to mask the taste of soporific with salt from Sureluck Jones story. And the other story about him I read in my childhood was about criminals who wanted to hide their victim's body by hiding it in one coffin with a real deceased. In that story coffin didn't have a false bottom, though, but the principle was similar."

"Millie, you are the genius! Real detective! No, super-detective!" Dale was beside himself with admiration.

"That's understatement, lad!" Monty corrected him. "She's super-agent! Only super-agents can spend so much time under the tarpaulin without move or sound and remember not only the faces but the interests of the felons! Stone, no, steel self-control! Not to mention staying in the wardrobe for all this time!"

Mildred shrugged. "Well, Spivey described my fate in case I'm caught so vividly that I had no other choice but follow Chip's advice and bury myself in the farthest corner! So if there was something phenomenal, it's my cowardice."

"No cowardice!" Dale allowed himself to object. "It was bravery and self-control! Trust me, I tried to sit in that wardrobe through the day without coming out but could stand it for three hours only, after which I grew too hungry and bored! And you… Phenomenal!"

Mildred shot a glance at Chip. "My self-control is nothing compared to Chip's. He was magnificent. Even driven into the corner he didn't give up, trying to alienate the criminals and making them speak out the tiniest details! He fought until the very last second!"

"Yes, that's our Chip!" Gadget nodded. "But he'd never make it without you!"

"Don't say that, Master! It was you who saved him! Why did you come back three days earlier? How did you know?"

Dale pushed Gadget with his elbow. "Tell her, Gadget!" Everybody looked at the mouse and she blushed.

"Wlachally, Millie, everything was simple! We received the satellite signal from HQ security system that someone got into the ventilation."

"Satellite signal?" Mildred asked, not really believing. "Chip didn't say you had your own space network!"

"We don't have it so we have to use human ones. The signal is sent on the GPS frequency and it's nothing but a short microimpulse which doesn't really affect the system operation and is nigh untraceable! It allows us to know what's going on in HQ during our absence everywhere in the world! So we immediately knew about the intrusion and at first thought it would be contained to the ventilation and garage only since every other door was locked but when system told us that the hangar door opened we thought it was an error 'cause there's a code lock there…"

"Yes, Chip mentioned it while telling the criminals what I _won't_ do. He said there were eight digits and added 'like in a date'. And I instantly knew he meant the date when your team was formed. He told it to me earlier and it impressed me so much I remembered it firmly. But when I entered it everything around started shaking and I thought I activated self-destruction or something like that. But it was just a small earthquake!"

"So, it was indeed earthquake!" Dale laughed. "And we couldn't tell if it was a malfunction or a space invasion!"

"Well, looks like the system needs additional calibration…" Gadget said thoughtfully. "It doesn't react to fallen leaves already, but something must be clearly done about earthquakes…"

Other Rangers gulped nervously imagining Gadget 'doing something' about earthquakes. Mildred didn't know her quite as well and went on, unruffled. "Okay, I understood about signal. But Spivey said all flights were cancelled! How did you get here so fast?"

Gadget shrugged, palms up. "We wonder, to! First we got almost killed by the explosion of telescope tripod, then we almost fell down the volcano, barely avoided perishing in the cyclone we had enough batteries to make the dryer work until we were on the plane. Then we flew, flew, changed planes and flew again, then found you… After that, you know everything!"

Millie was astonished. "Oh gosh… Explosions, cyclones…"

"And it's not everything!" Dale added. "Gadget forgot to mention tropical poisonous beasts, rabid biting boys and killer possums!"

"Looks like a very long story, Mister Dale…"

Chipmunk winked at her. "You'll hear all of it, Millie! But under one condition!"

"Which one?"

"If you forget about this 'mister'! Just Dale, okay?"

"Okay, mister… just Dale!"

"And also just Gadget, just Monty and just Zipper! Am I right?" Dale turned to the others. The nurse grew embarrassed but affirmative nods from other Rangers made her fell confident again.

"Thank you! I didn't dare to dream about talking with you like that! I didn't even hope to get introduced to you!"

"See?" Dale smiled broadly. "And you say 'fantastic'! No fantastic! I'm sure Chip will say the same when he wakes up! By the way, when will he?"

The nurse grew sad.

"It's unknown."

"What do you mean 'unknown'?" Dale asked anxiously. "He's alright, yes? He's recovering?!"

Mildred took Dale by his hand and he calmed down. "Sure! The worst has passed for the reanimation is always the hardest part of it. But recovery process has just started."

"And when will the end be? I mean, recovery?"

"Not before his organism is freed from poison."

"But we even spilled healthy blood into him!"

"It's just the first session. He needs complete transfusion but since we have only one donor, we'll have to break the process into several stages. Can you come here at 2 PM?"

"Sure! I wasn't going to leave anywhere until he recovers!"

"Me too!" Gadget seconded.

"And we!" Monty answered for himself and for Zipper.

Millie smiled. "I see and I'm grateful to you for this. He needs you, I can feel it. But I must warn you that the waiting can be very long."

"How long?" Dale inquired. "Till evening? Morning?"

"Much longer, I'm afraid. Barbiturates are very persistent substances, and the long-term ones like the methylphenobarbital he was given ― especially so. We'll develop medicine kits for him and Mister Harold to speed up the poison excretion but it will still take much time."

"We'll wait, Millie," Gadget assured her.

"Then I'll arrange four beds for you in the nearby wards."

"No-no, we'll do by―"

"Don't worry! There is room in the hospital so you won't be a burden if that's what you mean."

"Exactly that!" Dale confirmed. "But if you say it's okay…"

"Absolutely!"

"Then we're okay with it, too," Gadget shook Mildred's paw. "Thanks again for everything. Thanks for Chip!"

"Yeah, thanks for Chippah, Millie!" Monty joined in and hugged the nurse tightly. Dale followed his example but went even further and planted two huge kisses on her cheeks making already embarrassed nurse blush heavily.

"Mister Dale, you didn't need to…"

"Drop it, Millie, it's nothing compared to what you really deserve! And remember ― no 'misters' allowed!"

"Oh, yes… Okay, I must go to see Doctor Stone now, we'll be developing the rehabilitation program. We already have the general scheme so we'll start immediately."

"Can we stay here?" Gadget asked.

"We won't be a trouble!" Dale backed her up.

Mildred made a helpless gesture. "Unfortunately, during procedures only authorized personnel is allowed inside. But…" She thought for a moment, then opened the inner doors. "You can sit here, by his side. It's against the rules, too, but I don't think Doctor Stone will fire me for this."

"If he only tries, we'll fire him ourselves!" the red-nosed chipmunk promised. Mildred giggled and left. Rescue Rangers gathered around the bed. Dale stood by Chip's left, Monty with Zipper sitting on his shoulder leant on the bed's back and Gadget occupied the only chair and held her unconscious friend's hand. Just like at the night of their parting, but if at that time the ward was filled with voices and laughter, now beeping of equipment watching Chip's state was the only sound. The welcome turned out far sadder then the farewell…

"You think he can hear us?" Dale broke the prolonged silence. "Knows we're here?"

"I dunno," Gadget shook her head. "I hope so… Golly…"

"Don't cry, luv," Monty asked squeezing her shoulder. "You heard what Millie said! The worst is left behind!"

"Yes, Gadget, don't worry! Everything will be okay! He…" Dale stuttered, fighting the lump in his throat. "He'll recover and we'll be together again! He'll… He'll be back! We are back! And he'll be back!"

"Yes, Dale, he'll be back… He surely will…"

There was a knock at the door and Garding entered. The fight with Turkle cost him quite a bit, three stitches on his face and a bandage on the back of his head a proof of that.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, "but you should leave. We'll begin soon…"

"Yeah, sure, Nurse Mildred warned us!" Monty nodded. "We're coming. Let's go, luv."

"One minute more, Monty," Gadget asked.

"Let's go, Gadgie, we delay the doctors…"

"Yes, I know… Go, I'll be right behind you!"

"As you say. Let's go, Dale!"

"Master Gadget!" Garding called the mouse staying by the bed. "I understand everything but…"

"I'll be quick! Promise!"

The orderly nodded with understanding and exited. Gadget sat for half aminute more, then leant to the dear friend's face, half covered with a plastic mask, and whispered into his ear.

"Everything will be alright, Chip. I returned as promised, even a little earlier. We all returned. Now it's your turn. Come back soon. We'll be waiting. I'll be waiting."

And so they waited. It was the only thing they could do now. Everything Rescue Rangers and SCH doctors could do they already did.

The former returned from Java despite Budi Bambang's intrigues and the tropical storm and finished the investigation, finding out everything up to the name of the post office worker paid by Mouise Stretcher to intercept her husband's letters and a master who yielded to rich offers and built the coffin with a false bottom. And the latter brought him back from the other side. Or rather, didn't let him go there.

At first glance Chip's successful reanimation contradicted all existing laws of medicine. But laboratory tests showed that there was nothing supernatural with it. Just like Harold Bucksup the Third, he simply didn't receive a lethal doze. But if in the patron's case it could be explained with the criminals running out of drugs, Rescue Rangers leader was saved by double doze of cordiamizol. It's components reacted with methylphenobarbital, slowing and softening its effects, so his heart kept beating for much longer than it should have. Mouise's decision to bury her husband in the open coffin also added to this, for the coffin's size and a false bottom which sank a bit under Harold's weight allowed a small but vital amount of air inside. Still, if it hadn't been for timely and professional help, these little accidents alone wouldn't have been enough to save Chip, so this operation was and will always be a great achievement of rodent medicine. But it was not the end but the beginning of the way the Rangers, the doctors and Chip in particular had to endure.

The letters were arriving in the endless streams. When it was known that leader of Rescue Rangers is in critical condition, every one they helped during all these years considered his duty to express sympathies and either arrive to say the warm words in person or give his moral support in written form. These letters comprised a long chronicle of Ranger's heroic deeds and Monterey didn't allow any one of them to get lost, carefully storing and cataloguing them in order to write this monumental work someday. Many old cases were forgotten with time and the reading of some letters was met with exclamations of surprise like "We did even THAT?!".

And some especially valuable letters Monty placed into a separate metal box and read them out loud from time to time. These reserved or picturesque lines made other Rangers cry, laugh, nod thoughtfully or hem knowingly, each letter in its own way. But every one made them remember the rodent, owing to whom they met and stayed together during all this time. And whose return they awaited now, listening carefully to the beeping of signals and watching the curves on the screen closely, afraid to miss even the smallest change.

When it became clear Chip's recovery would drag on, his friends moved to the hospital altogether and left it only for occasional patrolling or respond to the emergency. It allowed them to digress from heavy thoughts, not to mention that Chip would surely want them to carry on as there was nobody else to do it. But the main problem was that criminals of all kinds and species heard about Rangers' loss, rejoiced and left their hideouts where the brave team had been driving them all this time and with so much effort.

In other words, there was no rest for the Rangers, and they worked at full stretch, vividly showing the criminal world that they were in action and that Chip's absence wouldn't keep them from resolute and effective actions. The lesson was understood and after several operations the crime uprising ended and the friends again were able to spend most of the time at their friend's bedside. After all, he needed their presence more than the most complex apparatus for his journey back to the world of living was just beginning…

*** 6 ***

Warm water enveloped his body heated with tropical sun. The ocean around him seemed endless, and only a thin green line in the distance reminded him about the land's existence. Chip couldn't see what it was but somehow he knew he should go there. So he swam, hurling from one wave to another. For some reason the waves rolled not towards the shore but away from it, as if purposely trying to keep Chip from reaching it. It was strange and with each new wave he overcame Rescue Ranger grew more and more resolute to reach the island and find everything out.

_What can it be?_ He thought, diving under the waves. _Must be some Isle of Professor Nimnul. The unnatural waves are in his style…_

Coming to this conclusion, he worked harder with his limbs and the shore started to come closer. When his hands touched the sand chipmunk raised and found to his great surprise that he was wearing his bomber jacket which, judging from its weight, absorbed no less than a gallon of water. He didn't take her off, though, aware that it would quickly dry up on the sun. Moreover, he dipped the hat he took out of his pocket into the sea to better protect his head from the heat.

_Okay, what is this place?_

The green wall of jungles stretched along the coast as far as he could see, with several monumental buildings located further inland towering above them. One of them was a stepped pyramid ending with a long spire, and Chip instantly recognized it as Borobudur.

_Then those three towers must be Prambanan!_ He realized. _I am on Java! And they are much closer to the shore then you can tell from the map…_ His heart trembled in anticipation of meeting his friends and he stepped forward but stopped in confusion. _Where should I go? Where to look for them? To the west, towards Borobudur, or straight ahead, to Prambanan? Or maybe…_

Chip looked to the right, at the black mountain far away crowned with a grey cloud of volcanic dust. It was Semeru, Java's highest mountain and, owing to combination of height and proximity to Equator, the best place on Earth to observe the incoming eclipse.

_Sure! They are there already! They wrote in their last letter they were going there!_

He ran to the east trying to leave the strand of burning sand as fast as possible and enter the salutary shade of dense jungles. The sand seemed miry like fresh dough, and then a wind blew, forcing Chip to hold his hat with one hand and cover his face from stinging grains with another. The wind blew harder and the broad palm leaves clapped louder, and the sky, only a minute ago clear and cloudless, became crimson and rainy. Ranger went faster but the closer he came to the jungles the clearer he saw there were no gaps in the living wall before him. A solid entanglement of lianas and roots, too dense even for Zipper to pass…

A cry of orangutan came from the right and Chip saw a spot of golden fur flash amidst the jungles. _Must be one of those orangutans Monty mentioned! Their war path must be nearby!_ Chip surmised and went there. After some time he started doubt it because he clearly remembered Monterey met those apes on Sumatra. But then he reached a wide and well-trampled path his doubts vanished. Even the wind stopped and singing of unseen birds was heard.

Chip's jacket dried completely, so he squared his shoulders and went down the path, narrow and unremarkable for an orangutan but broad avenue for a chipmunk. It serpentined through the jungle and lead to a spacious stony plateau with Mountain Semeru in the center. Puffs of dust and smoke came out of his crater constantly and a dense hammer-like cloud above it never cleared completely.

_The others must be on the volcano already… Yes, Gadget was going to install the equipment halfway to the top where air is thinner and the aberrations are smaller!_

He ran to the mountain jumping from ledge to the ledge. It became harder to breathe, the limbs grew numb with exertion and lack of air. Step, another step, then onto that big boulder…

_No, it's too far away, I won't reach it… Or would I? I would!_

Chip ran up and jumped, but the ledge he was aiming at suddenly started to move from him. Chipmunk waved his hands and legs trying, like a cartoon character, to run across the chasm by the thin air.

And then he just froze, terrified, looking at the ledge changing its color and shape. The unbreakable stone surface became soft like wax, its edges smoothed and the ledge became a pipe ― a green pipe encircling the mountain like an emerald belt and most of all resembling a salamander's tail. Chip couldn't see a body or a head but taking into account the tail's length and the diameter of the mountain, they should be…

Terrified, Chip looked behind. Intuition didn't fail him. The monster's head with a mouth full of blade-sharp teeth was only inches away from him and closing in rapidly, growing in size and screening the mountain, the sky and the white wall…

"AAAAAAAA!" Chip yelled thrashing his limbs through the air which suddenly became dense like a milk cream, restraining his movements and deafening all the sounds, so Chip couldn't really move and didn't hear even his own scream.

"AAAAAAAA!" Dale screamed. He was sleeping on the chair with his face covered by the latest "Dinosaur Hunters" issue. The loud beeping of equipment woke him up, and he jumped up from the chair and ran to his friend.

"CHIP! YOU WOKE UP, NO?! CHIP!!! CHIP!!! SAY SOMETHING!!!"

_It knows my name… _Chip wondered, amazed by abrupt changes in the monster's appearance. _It speaks to me… It's brown, two-teethed, wears read and has Dale's voice… This… This must be…_

"D-D-D…" he tried to say his friend's name but his lips, tongue and vocal chords didn't obey him. His body also refused to cooperate, as well as the muscles of his face cast into some kind of plastic muzzle.

"Chip!!! Chip!!! It's me, Dale!!!" his friend went on shouting. "You see me?! Hear me?! Recognize me?! Say something, Chip!!!"

"D-D… D-Dale…"

"I don't hear you, Chip! Don't hear you! Speak louder!!!"

"Dale…"

"Chip! Chip! Come on! Louder!"

"DALE!!!" Chip thought he was crying so loudly the windows would shatter, but Dale heard nothing but suppressed whisper, barely audible through the oxygen mask. That was quite enough, though! He jumped almost to the ceiling, galloped into the anteroom and yelled into the corridor with all his lungs' might.

"GUYS!!! HE'S AWOKEN!!! COME HERE!!! HE'S AWOKEN!!!"

"Awoken?!" Sarah Cotton asked running into the ward. She saw the patient's opened eyes and much higher curves on the screens.

"I'll tell the doctor!" she exclaimed and ran out. Dale followed her but barely managed to jump aside in time and not get crushed by Monterey and Zipper who flew into the ward both figuratively and literary.

"Why so loud?" The Aussie snarled at his friend. "I barely talked her into sleeping some… Ah, forget it!"

The giant ran into the inner part of the ward almost tearing the door from its hinges in the process.

"CHIPPAH-ME-LAD!!!" he roared, moving his hands widely apart.

"Mont… Zip…" Chip whispered, turning his head slowly and smiling to Zipper who flew down to his face. To tell the truth, the smile turned out rather horrible, but the mask hid the details and Zipper didn't pay attention to such trifles in the first place.

"_Happy come back!_" Zipper squeaked.

"H-h… Happy…" Chip repeated after him. He tried to lift his hand but it didn't move even a bit. Or rather, it moved, but only a bit and with long delay. While Chip felt he bent his hand by 90 degrees, in reality it bent no more then by 5 degrees and in abrupt jerk after which it fell down on the bed instantly. You feel something like that when you sleep through the night in an uncomfortable pose and in the morning your hand is numb and doesn't react until the blood circulation restores. Now Chip felt his entire body was numb at the same time.

"G-g-guys… Wh… Where's G-G…"

Zipper transmitted his words to the others and Monty scratched his chin.

"See, Chippah…" he began but heard the fast pace from the corridor and looked at Dale grimly. "Why so loud?"

"DALE! MONTY!" Gadget shouted from the threshold. "What?! Why?! I heard―"

She saw Chip looking at her through the glass and ran to him.

"Chip…" she whispered, leaning down to him. Now, when she was close enough, Chip saw how exhausted she looked. The shadows around her eyes were darker then her jumpsuit, and her skin was so pale it could be easily confused with her shirt. Her hair hanged down in locks. She lost weight and her face was thinner and sharper now, and her goggles looked significantly larger. Nevertheless, it was she. The one he didn't hoped to see again was now standing by his side, looking at him with red from tiredness but at the same time sparkling with happiness eyes.

"G-G-G…"

As usual, the first attempt was a failure, but chipmunk kept on trying. He was willing to die but spell her name out. He inhaled so much air that his ribs started aching, swallowed dry saliva a couple of times and, fighting for each and every sound, said as loud as he could.

"G-G… G-Ga… G-Gadget…"

His own voice seemed strange to Chip at first. It happens when you hear yourself in recording for the first time because we hear our voice not through the ears only but through bones of skull as well. Chip experienced the same effect, though this time it was in reverse. Previously he heard himself through the bones only. Now he heard himself with ears, too. It was already a victory, but the most important was that Gadget heard him, too. Didn't read it by his lips, didn't guessed it, though it was elementary. No, she heard him. And even more than thatm she answered.

"Yes, Chip, I'm here."

Then she took a step and threw herself on his chest.

"You came back, Chip…" she whispered, digging her face into the blanket. "Golly, you came back… Came back…"

"Y-yes, G-Gadget…"

She was close like never before, just in a mouse inch away from his face. But for him, incapable of any single move, she was unreachable. He desperately tried to touch her but it was like a nightmare where you can neither move nor wake up. He fought for every inch of the blanket between his paw and her hair, but creases of fabric were like impassable mountains and he couldn't fly over them for his hand didn't stay in the air for long. The veins on his forehead bulged out, tears flew down his cheeks but every time his hand just fell down on the blanket without moving forward by an inch.

Chip was on the verge of howling in anguish and anger at his own disability to pass this last inch which could be equally well a mile. Suddenly he felt someone grabbing his paw and through the mist of tears in his eyes saw red and yellow clothes.

_Dale__!_ He realized. _Even now he wants to interfere like he always did it…_

Enraged by this betrayal, he tried to break free from the traitor's grip but it was too late. Dale clasped his paw and lifted to the height previously unreachable to Chip. Not to throw it away, though, but to carefully put it down on Gadget's head.

Chip gasped and bedside equipment beeped loudly, but nobody paid attention. The readings of machines were of no importance now.

"Chip?" Gadget asked quietly.

"Y-yes, it's me…" he answered and looked up at Dale still standing by his side. The red-nosed chipmunk nodded and stepped away, leaving them not really alone but in private.

"Chip…" the mouse whispered.

"Gadget…" he muttered through tears, this time not of sorrow but of joy.

Maybe nervous endings revived finally, maybe recent shock was the cause, or maybe the touch to Gadget's hair was invigorating. In any case, Chip's hand became more obedient and capable of making much smoother moves, and he gently caressed her. His hand didn't moved beyond her goggles' strap at first but with each stroking it moved more and more confident. Gadget felt it and moved closer, and giggled quietly when he touched her graceful ear.

"Gadget…" Chip repeated.

"Mhmmm-m-m…" she answered indistinctly.

"Oh boy, Gadget… You… You can't im-magine, I… I waited so… Wanted so… Do so much… Tell you… You… You hear, Gadget? So much to tell you, Gadget… Gadget… Gadget?"

The mouse neither answered nor moved. Chip called her few more times, each time louder and more nervously. She didn't react and he looked at his friends who stood at the door wiping tears of happiness.

"Guys…! Dale…! Monty…!"

"What's up, lad?" Monty asked, seeing Chip wants to say something.

"Gadget… I don't― don't know… She's… She's not responding…!"

The Aussie bowed down and, carefully moving Gadget's hair aside, looked into her face.

"What's with her, Monty? What?" Chip kept asking. His alarm passed on to Monterey who leant lower, touching mouse's face with his moustache. She winced and hemmed something. Monterey's expression changed into that of utmost tenderness and he whispered.

"She fell asleep."

"Fell asleep?" Chip asked, switching to even quieter whisper. "R-right here? How?"

"Finally. And very deeply at that!"

"So maybe…" Chipmunk started removing his hand but Gadget slept lightly enough to sense it and moved. Chip quickly caressed her twitching ear showing her he's there.

"Maybe you should carry her somewhere…" he said in even lower voice when she settled down.

Monty shrugged. "As you say, Chippah. She doesn't wanna leave, though, and I understand the lass perfectly…"

Chip didn't want to part with Gadget so soon, either, but he caressed her delicate fringe and nodded confidently.

"Yes, Monty… it would be… better that way…"

"Mhmhmhm-m-m…" Gadget absolutely disagreed with the consensus reached in her presence but without her involvement and shook her head in sleep. But her protest didn't keep the Aussie from carefully unhooking her nails from the blanket and lifting her up. In his arms she seemed even more delicate and thin, and Chip's heart was wrung with it which didn't go unnoticed by the vigilant equipment. Loud beeping made Gadget twitch and Monty quickly carried her out of the room. Zipper followed them, and when they disappeared view Dale sighed and asked:

"Do you now understand why I pretended to have my legs broken then?"

"What do you… mean by… by that?" Chip shot his eyebrows up. 'Shoot' was too big a word for such a faint movement, though. He just lifted them somewhat.

"That at times like this you really want to receive a serious injury for her to be by your side like that. Agreed?"

"Dale, you… If anything, you… All you have to do is just ask me… And I'll make you as many injuries as you want!"

"Ouch-ouch-ouch, we're so threatening in the plaster, woo!" Dale made acid remark but then smiled and waved his hand. "Never mind. Doctor Stone will come soon, so I don't want to interfere…"

He headed to the door but Chip stopped him with a gesture.

"Wait, Dale… Tell me… Millie, she… Did she…?"

"If she didn't, we wouldn't be talking right now!"

"And what about M… Mouise and the others…"

Dale jokingly saluted.

"The gang is caught at full complement including actors, doctors and postal workers! You should have heard how they blamed one another for everything at once! The election debates pale in comparison! So don't worry about them, Millie or Mister Harold…"

"Mister Harold… He too?"

"Yes, alive and kicking! We've been waiting for you only!"

"Yes? And… and how long?"

"Today is the day number twenty seven."

"Twenty seven…" Chip tried to digest what he heard. "That is… Today is…"

Dale nodded. "Yes, buddy! Happy New Year!"

"Happy New Year…" Rescue Rangers leader repeated automatically. "Wait, so Gadget… All this time…"

"She didn't really sleep if you mean that, yes. Though you saw it for yourself."

"I did…" Chip confirmed and looked straight into his old friends eyes.

"Th-thank you."

Dale didn't get it. "What for?"

"For helping me… With my hand."

"Oh, that's the big idea… Never mind. I saw you needed it and you wouldn't make it so I… If you don't want to feel obliged, consider I made it for her. She needed it, too."

"In that c-case, thank you… twice. For helping her…"

Dale smiled. "Stop it, Chip. You'd have done the same. Okay, lay, rest and recover. If you wanna have a walk, the crutches are by the bed. You favorite ones!"

"One more word, and… Though I must admit, I missed your jokes…"

"And I missed your bonks and shouts! Just kidding!" Dale laughed but grew serious when Chip drooped somewhat. "What happened?!"

"Forgive me, Dale, for… For all my…"

"Come on, Chip, forget about it! After all, I deserved them all! Okay, most of them. One third, maybe. On the other hand… Ah, forget it. Let bygones be bygones… Oh, here's the doctor!"

"So, how does our heroic patient feel?" Stone asked cheerfully. "I see the speech returned! Very good!"

"Yeah, Chip is renowned chatterbox, so there's nothing strange with it! Okay, just joking!" Dale raised his hand prompting Chip to settle down and stop reaching for a crutch. "I'm leaving! At dinner time will come here in full crowd so stay home and don't let any strangers in! Okay, okay, don't be so nervous, you'll burn the cardiograph! He's all yours, doc!"

"Your friend is quite an inventive person!" the head of the SCH observed when Dale closed the door behind him.

Chip rolled his eyes. "Oh, yeah… Doctor, tell me, how long… how long will I have problems with my arms?"

"Itching for action?" Doctor laughed. "Don't worry, after finishing the recreational program you'll be as good as new…"

The door half-opened and Dale's face appeared. He was smiling broadly, barely able to contain the urge to tell the world his new joke.

"What now?" Chip asked nervously. He was experienced enough to treat this Dale's mood apprehensively.

"Nothing!" Dale flapped his eyelashes innocently. "I was just walking down the corridor and accidentally looked into the ward where Gadget was sleeping. You know, when she's asleep, she's so… so… oh, drop it, you won't understand anyway! So, I came to ask, remember you mentioned something about as many injuries as… OUCH!"

Dale quickly shut the door and the crutch thrown by Chip missed the target.

"Not bad," Stone observed. "Looks like in your case we can go by accelerated program…"


	11. Chapter 11 Congratulatory Diagnosis

**Chapter 1****1**

**Congratulatory Diagnosis****: It's Love**

*** 1 ***

_January__ 28__th_

Preparations for Chip's discharge day started long before Doctor Stone officially informed him and other Rangers that examination results were the most positive so there was no real need for him to stay here any longer and he would soon be able to leave the hospital. But, he added, not before complying with all needed formalities, both bureaucratic and organizational. While there were no questions about the former, the old doctor didn't speak much about the latter, in Chip's presence at least. But it was clear something grandiose was being prepared, for the Small Central Hospital had never discharged such heroic patients in its short but already rich history.

Not very long time had passed since the winter festivities and decorations were already there for the most part, but SCH personnel still worked industriously. Everybody prepared for this day very responsibly, but even the most hard-working ones didn't prepare for it as hard as the hero of the occasion himself. For him it was not just the discharge day but the start of the entirely new life.

Owing to medicamental treatment program designed by hospital's leading pharmacologists and Mildred, whose idea of using stimulators proved very effective, all functions of Chip's poisoned organism restored completely. That's why on January 18th, three days after him coming out of coma, he was transferred to the ward no. 6 which remained assigned to him through all this time. After almost three weeks he spent there it started to seem as familiar as his room in the Headquarters, thus gaining truly symbolic significance. Now it was the embodiment and the last stand of his old way of life parting with which was inevitable as plaster removal but still very and very painful.

_What will she think about it? What w__ill say…?_

Chip took his hat off the peg and looked around. After breakfast he started to do the room. First he just couldn't leave it untidy. Second, he felt that if he didn't find something to do, they would have to put him into another ward for a different kind of patients. That's why he did his best and now the room was in immaculate order. Not a single tuck on the blanket and the plaid; the crutches stuck out of the holder under perfectly right angle and the wheelchair's metal parts shone. Yesterday his friends took home the last of the books and the letters, and the bedside table and the chair were empty. In short, the ward was ready to welcome its next patient.

But was the current one ready to leave it?

_Will she believe? Understand? Forgive…?_

Chip pressed his paw to his breast. Through the jacket he felt a photograph in the inner pocket. He didn't need to take it out. He remembered every single dot and line by heart. Everyday, as soon as he was alone after his friends' leaving, he took it out, sighed and promised himself to talk to her tomorrow.

Slowly but steadily 'tomorrow' became replaced with 'the discharge day' which seemed distant and thus very convenient then. Today it was part of reality, just like his hat, jacket and the photograph. And the white door which could be opened by a single turn of the knob. On other days, that is. Today it wasn't that easy, since today it lead not into a corridor but into that brand new life…

_It's time!_ Chip told himself. He slapped his hat on and headed to the door. _Sitting in the room won't do anything good! Everything is decided! Not to mention that this door is the only one and only I can open it…_

He was wrong.

"Good morning, Chip!" Mildred welcomed him.

"Good…" Chip answered in dull voice, unable to look away from her. She was even more beautiful than usually. Her chestnut-colored hair was rising up from her forehead in two high wave crests which joined in the middle and fell down on her shoulders, twirling forward like water at the bottom of the waterfall. Dark-grey dress with white polka-dots and thin white belt matched her eyes perfectly. They were brighter than ever thanks to long charcoal-black lashes which made them shining and warm like only the sun ray piercing the rain clouds can be…

"Is our hero ready?" Millie asked playfully.

"More than… that…" words didn't come easy for Chip. He didn't felt as confused as before, for now, after two weeks worth of thoughts and worries, he knew the exact reason for all these emotions, as well as all the consequences. The nature of his confusion was different.

Just like before, after many days of planning he knew each and every of his steps beforehand, starting with opening the door and stepping out into the corridor. Now Mildred's sudden coming crossed the first three stages of his plan out, making the entire construction shake. As a result, the walls of the corridor he chose as his path started cracking and lots of other paths opened, allowing for freedom of choice. Sham freedom, to be precise, as all the variants required studying and didn't help getting to his objective but mislead him, like several perfectly identical doors in the circular room.

_Should I tell her now? Tell everything like it is?_

"_But you wanted to do it later, remember?"_

_I do. But this is such a great occasion! We're alone, the corridor's empty, the personnel's getting ready for the meeting so no one will interrupt us…_

"_But what about her? You're still not sure how she'll meet it…"_

_But if I say everything now, I won't need to talk to her…_

"_Don't fool yourself!"_

"Chip, are you alright?" Mildred asked anxiously. "You seem worried…"

Chip could hardly keep himself from telling her about all his worries not omitting a single syndrome.

"No, Millie, everything's great!" he said aloud instead. "Just a little nervous, that's all. Spent so much time here and, well…"

The nurse nodded. "I see. Anyway, let's go! They'll start soon!"

Chip grew alarmed. "Oh… By the way, is everybody there already? And my friends on stage, too?" Rescue Ranger felt like another pillar of his plan's building started shaking, proving to be not ferroconcrete but clay.

"No, they are waiting for you in the reception hall. Said they won't go anywhere without you."

"Oh, that's great! I mean, you are right, we shouldn't make them wait!"

Despite his confident tone, Chip didn't felt so sure.

"_You have one last chance of setting everything once and for all…"_

_No, it won't set everything in any case!_

"_But this way you'll feel more confident while talking with her, knowing that there's no looking back…"_

_No, I can't that to her. To both of them…_

"_Look's like you are totally confused…"_

_NO!_

"What 'no', Chip?" Mildred grew startled. "You won't go? But―"

Chip laughed hoping his joy didn't look too forced. "Oh boy, Millie! Sure I'll go! Just, erhm, thinking aloud! Don't pay attention!"

She smiled. "Already thinking of some case?"

"Well, it's time to go back on track!" Chip nodded, once again amazed by Mildred's ability to suggest the most suitable explanation which allowed him to find a way out without losing his face. But even she couldn't solve the dilemma facing him now.

"_If she goes out into the corridor that will be it…"_

_Right! According to plan! Just like I expected!_

"Are you coming?"

"Yes, Millie, let's go!"

They passed the distance to the hall in silence. Mildred didn't want to break Chip's concentration on problems undoubtedly important for the whole society while he was enjoying the final respite to polish his future speech. The grim experience told him that too meticulous planning is very sensible to external objective and subjective factors, in other words, collapses like a house of playing cards from the faintest draft or sneezing respectively. So he just determined the preliminary scheme of the dialog hoping for everything else to come in the process…

"And here comes the hero!" Doctor Stone announced when the couple entered the hall. "It took you too long, we've started to worry! You decided against coming, Chip?"

Mildred giggled. "I thought the same at first. But as you can see, we're here and it's time to move out! Agreed, Chip?"

"Yes, probably…" he answered, looking at his friends. Broadly smiling Dale in his Hawaiian sweater. Monterey Jack brushed and trimmed his moustache for the ceremony. He was wearing his ordinary clothes but a package under his arm with black tails of a coat hanging out of it showed it's only temporary. Zipper's suite was most probably there, too.

As for Gadget, she dressed up beforehand. The only familiar piece of attire were her goggles which, to tell the truth, suited any dress she wore. In this particular case they constituted a harmonic combination with dark turquoise blue dress and a bomber jacket with fur collar. It was almost identical to Chip's but thicker and darker, almost black against her blonde hair.

"In that case, follow me, please!" Stone motioned the Rescue Rangers towards the corridor leading to the north wing. But then Chip coughed loudly and raised his hand urging them to stop.

"Doctor, wait! Gadget, I need to talk to you."

"But Chip!" Stone objected. "We've got little time left…"

Chip nodded. "I understand, but please, forgive me. It's really important."

"But―"

"It's okay, doctor!" Gadget interrupted him. "You go ahead, we'll be right behind you!"

"But Gadget! We can't start without you!" frightened Dale chattered. "Better wait until…"

"Golly, what will extra five or ten minutes do? And we don't leave anywhere but stay in the hospital! Right, Chip?"

"Yes-yes, we'll be here… There!" Chipmunk pointed at the nearest glass doors leading to the therapy section. "It won't be long, I promise!"

Stone could do nothing but make a helpless gesture. "Very well, then, if you say so… Others, please, follow me!"

He led everybody but Chip and Gadget out of the hall. Dale was the last to leave, his joy gone without a trace. It was obvious he didn't want to go, and he constantly looked back at the couple left in the middle of the hall. Reaching the corridor he stopped altogether and watched them, unable to make another step. Only when Stone called him he dropped his head and disappeared behind the corner.

"Let's go, Gadget," Chip said taking the mouse by her paw. His choice of theurapeutic section wasn't accidental. There were no wards, only cabinets of doctors who left to the celebratory meeting. But most important, there were benches along the walls. He saw them many times while driving here en route to the garage and thought they would be perfect place for this talk. It would be safer for Gadget to listen to his words while sitting.

"Maybe we should take a seat…" Chip said something between a question and an offer, and Gadget sat down. Chipmunk did the same and for a minute just looked at her, amazed with what he was seeing.

On the very next day after his recovery her tiredness and exhaustion vanished and now she fully recovered from her sleepless four weeks long vigil. Now she radiated the freshness and beauty that literary crashed him back hen, during their first meeting, and, as it seemed, once and for all…

_Comes the morning and the headlights fade in rain_

_Hundred thousand changes...everything's the same_

At this moment, at this final second Chip felt the urge not to change anything. Say nothing. Do nothing. Just sit next to her for a while holding her paw, say a couple of meaningless phrases and go to the assembly hall. Then take his usual seat of the Ranger Wing's co-pilot, fly to the HQ he hadn't seen for centuries and just live the way it was before.

But the point was, things would never be the way they were before. Nothing passes without a trace, especially feelings. Your appearance can stay the same, you can play, pretend, wear a mask… But no matter how you'll call it, it won't be it. For it will be not you yourself but somebody else. Because the most important thing is not who you seem to be, but who you really are…

Chip looked at Gadget again. She was sitting silently, patiently waiting for him to start talking. She didn't urge him with word or gesture, she didn't even shot a glance at the clock on the nearest wall. She could sit like this till the evening, till tomorrow, till― In short, as long as needed. Chip knew it. He also knew he had no moral right to make her waiting. He already made her waiting for almost four weeks. So he braced himself and spoke.

"Nice jacket. Didn't know you have it. Why didn't you wear it before?"

Gadget lowered her eyes for a moment.

"It's my father's. The only thing I have which he wore himself. I never put it on, there were no suitable occasion. It's his dress jacket. He wore it on holidays and various ceremonies like the Award Ceremony for the winners of Rodent Overseas Air Racing in the 10 and 15 cc categories. The engine size is meant here. The Screaming Eagle's design allowed engine interchange without hindering her characteristics so dad could participate on her in different categories. He would have won the race in 20 cc category, too, but he wasn't allowed to start since the Eagle's wingspan wasn't large enough and she was considered too dangerous to fly at those speeds… Oh, sorry, I got too carried away! I asked me to come here not to discuss my jacket, my dad's piloting skills or rules of air racing in 20 cc category, did you?"

"Yes," Chip confirmed. "I wanted to… to thank you. For everything. For your smile, your laughter, your― your light which illuminated my way during all these years, and your warmth which comforted me no matter what I was doing. You know, when I saw you there, in the bomber, I… I became someone else. My life changed so much it's impossible to imagine. I felt something I had never felt before. I didn't understand it right away, far from it. But as time passed I realized that it wasn't just momentary craziness. It was… something beautiful. Something grand. Something that never repeats itself. At least I thought so. No, not like that, I KNEW it, you understand?"

Gadget nodded. "I do."

"Oh yes, sure, you always understood me, even when I myself didn't…"

"Wlachally, I can't really say that…"

"Don't, Gadget. You… All these years you were the best part of my life, and I was absolutely sure that there could be nothing better, and that the best of what could happen to me already happened. I mean meeting you and living close to you all this time. We survived so much, we went through so much. I know how you treat me, know that you are willing to do anything for my sake. You did so much for me already and I know you are ready to do even more than that. That's why I feel myself… I don't know, a traitor, maybe…"

"Gosh, Chip!" Gadget exclaimed and grabbed his paw nervously clutching the edge of the bench. "What are you talking about?! What treachery?!"

"I'm sorry, I must have chosen a word badly, but… You see, with all the feelings you have towards me, I… I just have no idea how you'd react to… In short, like I said, I never thought I could feel something like that towards anyone else, but…" Chip covered her hands with his palm and gulped, hesitant to say these terrible words. "But it happened. I mean―"

"Millie," Gadget finished for him.

Chip shook and looked down. "So you know…"

The mouse laughed. "Golly, Chip! It doesn't take a rocket scientist to understand it! The way you looked at each other talked, waited for another meeting. We talked much while you were unconscious, she didn't leave your ward for a second, just like me. She was simply the first to fall asleep that day, or she would be the first to charge into the room, you know…"

"Oh, I see… Wait, and… What did you talk about?"

"You, mostly. I told her about your heroic deeds, and she about your investigation here."

"And… is that it?"

"Surely no! She also told me about your walks, you teaching her to concentrate, figuring out her home address, asking her forgiveness so loud some car's alarm went off…"

"Yes, it's true… And about that accident in my ward…"

"About it, too, yes."

"About it, too…" Chip blushed heavily. "You see, I… I don't know how it happened, what came over me…"

"Golly, Chip!" Gadget smiled and put her hand on his shoulder. "What are you talking about? You know exactly what it was!"

"Some momentary weakness, most probably… Well…"

Chipmunk looked away avoiding seeing her eyes but she cupped his face in her hands and gently turned him to herself.

"Don't be a fool, Chip! It was love!"

"You… you think so?"

"I'm sure, Chip. Listen, I know you are very strong and very proud. That you value your honor and that most of all you are afraid of losing your face or showing weakness. So hear me out, Chip. It's not weakness. It's love. And love isn't a weakness. It's the greatest strength in the world."

"Really…?"

"Really."

Chip lowered his head and Gadget felt a tear running down her paw.

"Golly!" she bent forward and looked into his face. "Chip, why? What are these tears for? Please, don't!"

"Sorry…" chipmunk wiped his eyes with his hand and looked at her again. "It's… You see, it's… I just… was scared that… You know I'm afraid of not many things but this… I was afraid of this conversation so much I was quacking…"

"Why, Chip?"

"I was afraid you wouldn't understand. Grow angry, offended, I dunno… Start yelling at me or… or even worse, start crying. Yes, that scared me the most. You see I've already driven you to tears once when I insulted that little swallow and after that I… I thought about it and… and I swore to myself I won't let it happen again. I… I can't stand when you're crying… Can't stand it…"

"Chip…" she caressed his cheek, straightening out his furs glued together by moisture. "Why should I become angry? Why must I cry?"

"Well, I thought… You… You were so worried about me, and I don't mean just this your vigil… So…"

"Yes, Chip, you're right. I was worried. For you, for Dale, for Monty, for Zipper, for all of oyu. You are the most precious I have, and most of all I want you to be happy. That's why I tell you: go to Millie, and be happy. You both will be happy, Chip, trust me. She's beautiful, clever and kind girl. And she loves you, and you love her. You love her, don't you?"

"Yes," Chip answered in low voice. "I love her, Gadget."

"See? Isn't it enough? Is anything else needed?"

Chip said nothing. Because it was the right answer, and because no words were needed now. So he just hugged Gadget closely and dug his muzzle into her coat's collar. She did the same and they sat there for some time, enjoying these moments of intimacy which will never be the same again.

"You know, Gadget," Chip finally spoke. "I understood it long ago but was never really brave enough to say it, afraid of confusing something, saying something wrong… In short, you are pure gold. A wonder. THE wonder. The real wonder. Thank you for everything, for all these years. If it hadn't been for you, I― I don't know where I would've been know and whether my life would've had any meaning at all. I don't know if I could endure all this… Probably not. I would've probably abandoned it, or broke down or… or grew cruel and embittered, who knows…"

_I know…_ Gadget thought remembering Chip-Vader's cold eyes.

"I'm sure you'd have made it," she said instead. "You are strong, brave and firm of purpose. But most important, you are kind, Chip. Very kind. "

"No, Gadget," Chip weakened his hug and looked into her eyes. "I know I can be intolerable at times, and sometimes so much it scares me myself. But these your words, this treatment of yours allowed me to overcome everything. Thank you for this. Thanks for being my support and delight. Thanks for― for life."

Gadget smiled heartily. "Oh, Chip, please… It's me who must thank you. In Bottlebottom you were ready to stay and perish but insisted on me flying away. You asked, you begged, even ordered. Even yelled at me… I know it was hard but you did it for my sake, and I'm grateful for this. You saved my life so many times I lost count long ago. You risked your life and health to save me so often that it's worth several lives. But that's not what's important. You and Dale brought me back into the world, rescued me from loneliness and filled my life with absolutely new and unexpected meaning! Who would I have been without you? A half-insane hermit crazy about sprockets and traps, seeing nothing but the old broken plane! That's why you are more than friends to me, much more and much closer. Closer than brothers I don't have but if I did I'd wish them to be like you two. But you mean much more to me. You are my happiness. Happiness, Chip. No more, no less."

"Oh boy…" Chip was so moved he could barely speak. "I… I never imagined…"

"Me too, Chip. I didn't know it for a very long time. For too long."

"But Gadget… How then… What now then?"

"What now, Chip? You are still…" Gadget stuttered and when she went on, there was a distinct alarm in her voice. "You are staying, right? You aren't going to leave the Rangers, are you?"

"What are you talking about, Gadget?" Chip exclaimed. "Surely not! How can I leave? Do you know what Dale will turn our room into? Our former room, that is."

"Yeah, sure…" the inventor muttered. Chip's words brought back some very unpleasant memories. But they were gone forever, this time everything was different, so she gladdened.

"So, Millie will…" she paused significantly.

"Move to us, yes," Chip confirmed. "I haven't talked to her yet, though, but I think she'll agree. Besides, I want to offer her to become our team's full member. Sure she'll have to learn much but she's very apt and grasps everything on the fly so there won't be any prob― I mean, everything will be alright! I don't know if she's able to combine her Ranger duty with working here but since the new hospital in San-Angeles will inevitably decrease the SCH's role and she deserves much more than a dull life of a simple nurse I'm sure I'll convince her."

"If you talk to her like you are talking to me now, you'll certainly will!"

"Really? Thanks! You are right; I became too weak lately…"

"Golly, why 'weak'?" Gadget clasped his shoulders. "Not 'weak' at all! Quite the opposite, you made the one and only right decision! And very brave, mind you, for it's much easier to say the words of hatred than those of love!"

"Oh, yeah," chipmunk nodded, remembering how easy it was for him to taunt and insult his enemies and how hard ― to speak of gentle feelings. But now the incoming talk with Millie no longer seemed like an attempt to break a stone wall with his head. He knew what he had to say and knew everything will turn out the best way possible. "Thank you again. You are the wonder indeed! I'd never make it without you!"

"_You_ are the wonder, Chip!"

"Well," Chip squeezed her paw for the last time and stood up. "In that case…"

"Go to her! Tell her what you told me and be happy!" Gadget encouraged him and frowned jokingly. "Remember, I'll grow very angry if you aren't happy! And I'm scary when I'm angry, you know that!"

Chip smiled. "I know! I'll never forget that Baby Thaddeus! And this funeral case... Doctor Stone told me you almost killed Spivey and Mouise with that... What was it, by the way?"

"That? Oh, that was semi-automatic electric hair styler with straightening and drying functions! That is, it should have been semi-automatic electric hair styler with straightening and drying functions but during the testing I found out I installed too powerful engine and didn't take into account static charge accumulating on the rods due to self-induction. So I put the thingy away and when we were flying to the hospital I took it with me. Thought that if even Monty grew scared when I turned it on for the first time, the criminals would be scared, too…"

"Oh, you scared them, that's for sure!"

"I tried!" Gadget smiled. "Okay, Chip, time for you to go!"

"Yes, you are right! It's time!"

Chip turned to the doors but froze without making a step.

"Almost forgot," he said, turning back and fetching the photograph from his pocket.

"What's that?" Gadget asked. Chipmunk handed her the photo without a word, and Gadget was stunned to see herself there.

"It's me! Where did you get that?"

"You see," Chip said, nervously pinching his collar, "I copied it out of our group photo quite some time ago and since that time I always carried it with me, everywhere, and kept reprinting it when it became too worn so that you always stayed as fresh and beautiful on it as you were in life. It helped me in hard times and owing to it I always knew you are close. But now I want to give it back to you. Hope you understand…"

"Sure, Chip! You are right. Hope you don't mind if I hang it on the wall in the workshop?"

"Sure I won't!" Chip waved his hands. "I'll be… happy! Yes, happy!"

"Good!"

"So, I…" Chip made a step towards the door, and Gadget nodded.

"Go, Chip! You deserved it, deserved your happiness like nobody else! Go to her!"

"Thanks, I'm on my way then…! Wait, aren't you coming?"

"Go, Chip! You are the hero of the day, after all, it's you they are waiting for!"

"No, Gadget , I won't go without you…"

"Go, Chip, I'll be right behind you! Everything is alright, really! See you at the meeting!"

"Yeah, right, sure… Okay, I'm going… Running!"

Chip waved his paw one last time and disappeared behind the corner. Gadget leant back on the wall and closed her eyes. She was filled with emotions but just like in the morning on June 14th she was unable to move. So she just sat there, smiling happily and peacefully.

Gadget was sincere when she thanked Chip for the life he gave her. On that day in the old 'Mitchell' Chip, Dale, Monty and Zipper went through all the traps she built trying to fence herself from the cruel world that snatched her father away from her. And although in a year and a half since her father's death she calmed down and recovered somewhat, she drove herself into this prison too hard and persistently to broke free right away.

Back then her friends passed all the traps she built on the outside. But they weren't able to breach the ones she built inside herself. The walls she erected around her heart proved very strong and stood for a very long, impermissibly long time. And only the hull of the fallen Boeing finally breached them.

On that monstrously long June day she realized and learned much. She realized how important her friends were to her, and how important she was to them. She learned to see in their words and deeds those subtle things which evaded her all these years, smashing against the blind wall.

Gadget looked at the photo Chip gave back to her. Gave back… Yes, that's what he said: _I want to give it back to you…_ But you can give back only something you were given, and she didn't give him this photo. And no other photo, too, neither him nor Dale. She couldn't even imagine that her friends could need her photograph. And not to hang it on the wall and glance over it from time to time, but to carry everywhere and take out secretly to make sure that the paper was intact and the paint hadn't fade, then quickly hide it back before she could see it…

_Was that secrecy really needed?_

"_Would anything have changed otherwise?"_

_Nothing…_ Gadget had to admit. _Nothing. Or became even worse…_

Once again she recalled the episode with the fan, the flower and the picnic. What would she have told Chip if, say, on June 12th she had caught him with this photo in his paws?

"_Golly, what a great photo! It's from our group shot, yes? Did it yourself, yes? Not bad, not bad at all! Though the choice of the background color is strange and the graininess is too high, in short, there's much room for the progress! Sorry, can't talk anymore, my magnet resonator works with problems, needs checking…"_

_I deserved it all…_ Gadget thought clasping the photo to her breast and remembering Ice-Dome, Vader's cruel words and the empty HQ filled with the viscid silence and musty calmness of the crypt locked until the next funeral. That day on the SCH's threshold she swore she'd never allow her passion for technology to shove her friends to the background.

She kept her promise, and from the very truly next day she tried to spend most of her free time with them. And when she was short of spare time, for instance, during building new medical equipment, she tried to get Chip and Dale involved, too, and slowly they became as avid workshop goers as she was. And although many things they built needed modifying or rebuilding, her friend's happy faces made her forget of all the problems. Except one, for some walls even airliner can't breach…

---

"_Gadget, listen to us! You mustn't sacrifice your future for us. You deserve much more. You are a genius, a great engineer! You know and can make so much. And, besides, we … we are so … different. Too different. And I'm absolutely sure that some day, early or late, you'll meet someone who'll become a firm support and rejoice for you. And a great and loving father for your children…"_

"_You should listen to Chip. He's right, you know…"_

---

Chip and Dale. Small Central Hospital. The 'third' and every other Saturday but the last which for everyone else in this world was the only one that ever was. For her, though, there were so much of them it was unimaginable, and of those conversations in the waiting room, too. The same words by her friends, the same facial expressions and the same reaction to her saying that she would never leave them and she needed nobody but them. Each time there was sincere joy, smiles and happy laughter which seemed out of place in the middle of the hospital full of injured and dying.

But even these bright emotions didn't make her answer any more correct. That is, it was correct, but far from full. Every time she answered for herself. But Chip's words applied not only to her but to him and Dale, too. And no matter how much time she spent with them, how many sport events, concerts and movies they watched and visited, she couldn't give him something that no entertainment can substitute and that they both deserved long time ago.

The family.

Gadget knew Chip and Dale needed her. That's why she politely but firmly rejected all courting attempts by male mice working in SCH and tenaciously declined invitations from Sparky and other rodent scientists from the large and famous research centers. Nothing interested her, for she had made her choice already, and her friends' happiness was a proof of it. But at the same time she realized it clearer and clearer that this attitude of hers cut their wings. That she was giving them the present while depriving them of the future.

Upon realizing this she endeavored to talk to them about it a couple of times, but every time she abandoned it. It was too dangerous. Gadget remembered her initial reaction to their words too well, as well as that overwhelming feeling of emptiness and unneedingness that filled her while walking down the corridor. She also recalled how Chip left the Headquarters, feeling rejected by her, and even her kisses couldn't keep him from falling into the abyss of cynicism and heartlessness. They were nothing but a parachute which slowed down his descent somewhat, but no parachute will ever make for the safety rope, even if it is some invisible thread. She cut this thread with her own paws that day, once and for all. Almost, that is, for the temporal loop brought everything back. But it won't happen again…

Once again Monty's words came to her help. He had never really spoke them, but it didn't make them any less wise and important.

---

"…_But the point is that this can only be your choice. Only yours and nobody else's. They understood it and, I assure ya, will accept it whatever it'll be…"_

---

She made her choice. Now it was up to Chip and Dale to make theirs. To find their way on their own, without any prompts that are so easy to misinterpret tragically. Gadget could do nothing but wait for it to happen while tying to make everything she could for her friends to feel happy. At times this solution looked self-contradictory to her, though. How will her friends find their way if they feel happy already? But Chip's example undeniably proved that she was right. That she did it. And now she was infinitely happy with it.

"See, Gadget Hackwrench, everything's alright!" she said to herself carefully shoving the photograph into the pocket. "Everything's as it should be! Chip met the girl of his species which will be his faithful life partner, loving wife and great mother for their children. Your turn, Dale!"

"_Your thinking of him wasn't accidental, was it?"_

Gadget screwed up her eyes and shook her head. The feeling was similar to the one she had in the hospital workshop when Sparky offered her to move to MIT. This time the voice sounded louder and more distinct, either by contrast with the silence reigning in the facility, or because there were no other thoughts…

She pulled herself up.

_Surely it wasn't!_ _Quite the contrary, it was very logical! Now when Chip has everything settled, it's time to―_

"_Think of yourself…"_

_No, not of myself! Of Dale!_

"_The former doesn't contradi__ct the latter…"_

_Okay, enough of that…! Golly, I need to go! Everybody must have―_

"Gadget! Are you here?!"

The mouse gave a start and turned to Dale standing in the door frame. He was rumpled and breathing heavily after running headlong through the maze of the corridors.

"Everything's alright, Dale!" Gadget smiled. "I'm coming already! Am I too late?"

Chipmunk shook his head. "No-no-no! Everything is under control there! They are still waiting for someone to come and Doctor Stone said that the agenda item number first is half-year's summary so that will take long… But that's not what I wanted…"

"What, Dale? Something happened?"

"Nope… That is, of course! You… I don't know how to put it, in short, Chip and Millie… They…"

"Yes, Dale!" Gadget's smile broadened. "They love each other and plan to marry! I hope everything's alright there?"

"More than that! That's why I… Wait! You knew it?!"

"Chip told me…"

Dale's sigh of relief was loud and prolonged as an air-raid alarm.

"So… That's what he asked you to stay back for?!"

"Yes, for this… Aren't you glad?"

"Who, me?! Oh boy, Gadget! You― You can't imagine how glad I am! It's… It's incredible! It's―" Dale whirled off and made two laps around the corridor on his four to spend the energy overwhelming him somewhere, and then sat down on the bench next to Gadget. "It's a holiday!"

"You are right! Okay, we should go…"

"Wait!" Dale grabbed the inventor started to rise by her hand and made her sit down. His grip was slightly stronger and his movement a bit harsher than needed but Gadget didn't try to break her hand free.

"I'm listening, Dale."

"Gadget, you know…" chipmunk nervously shrugged his shoulders, adjusted his collar and scratched his nose. Usually Gadget, whose fussiness always had a distinct purpose, was jarred by Dale's chaotic movements when he tried to do ten things at once, even more so when he was nearby. But now his twitching didn't irritate her but seemed very proper and harmonic, like a whirlwind of furious hurricane seen from the circumterrestrial orbit…

"Nice jacket, by the way! Why didn't you wear it before! It suits you perfectly!"

"It's my father's dress jacket," Gadget answered without hint of displeasure, although Dale already asked her about it in the morning. But after this phrase his nervousness became as logical as the sequence of Fibonacci numbers. Him starting the conversation in the same way as Chip wasn't merely a coincidence. He wanted to tell her the same, and every word he was saying next was more telling than the previous one.

"See, Gadget, I… I wanted to tell it long time ago, but was never brave enough… I have no idea how you'll react…"

_Well, everything's turning out better than I thought!_ Gadget surmised listening to her friend's syncopated speech and feeling him squeezing her hand tighter and tighter. _Dale met some girl, too, and he'll be happy living with her! Who could it be? And, most important, when and where did they meet?_

"_Don't you know it already?"_

"…I know how you treat me but still… this is, I don't know, too sudden, to extraordinary…"

_No, really, who is it? Someone from the hospital personnel? Nope, I'd notice it… Someone he met on Java? Nope, we went together everywhere and he showed no particular interest to anybody… Some earlier acquaintance of his, maybe?_

"_Yes, earlier… Much, much earlier…"_

"Sure you can say it's strange. Unnatural. That it's just not done this way and plainly impossible…"

_What does he mean? Strange, unnatural, not done… Unnatural… What if… It's someone _different_! Someome from other species, maybe, but… Golly, sure! Foxglove!_

"_And if you think better?"_

_What's there to think better? Everything's logical! They parted for some reason back then but now became close, see each other…_

"_And when do you think they do it?"_

_When? Wmidunno… Sure! At nights! She must have heard about Chip's injury and returned to the city! But she's nocturnal, that's why we didn't meet her! But Dale is a night owl, that is, munk, so they met! That's it!_

"_Are you sure about that?"_

_Sure I'm sure…!_

"I know it looks strange but… But you know, I… I don't give a darn what they'll say about me, if they consider me crazy or worse… I… In short, I love you, Gadget, and I want you to become my wife."

Gadget froze, unable not only to speak but to breathe as well.

"You…" she babbled finally. "You… You really want it, Dale?"

"No!" Dale objected ardently. "Not really! But very-very-very much! More than anything in this world! Honestly!"

"Golly, Dale… This… You… Golly… Golly…"

"_Sure, you say?"_

_But… But it's… It's impossible…_

"_Why? Didn't you want to hear it from him all this time?"_

_Wlachally… Actually…_

"_Actually what? What else do you need? Do you mean it wasn't enough?"_

_What 'it'?_

"_Everything you remembered that night and everything you didn't…"_

_I don't get it… I don't remember…_

"_So remember! Start with that flight on the carpet or spy games, for instance. What was that?"_

_Well… That… That's just…_

"_Really? By the way, you never kissed anyone like _that!_"_

_Actually, I did…_

"_You mean Chip's leaving? And how many times did you kiss him then?"_

_Two…_

"_Wlatchally, to tell the truth, the second his was entirely his idea, but okay, accepted. And now remember Rangermobile…"_

_What's there to remember? A skateboard with two rows of seats, steering mechanism made of the winder put into the bottle cork__, powered by…_

"_Drop it! You know what's meant here!"_

Indeed, Gadget knew it better than anyone else in the world, and her timid attempt to hide from this knowledge in her habitual world of engineering solutions implemented in Rangermobile's design was another proof of that episode's significance. It was quickly buried underneath the realization of how monstrous Chip-Vader's deed had been and that real Chip was gone. Then came a feeling of unexplainable relief when she found out that nothing of it 'happened', followed by the events of all 'other days' which covered it like new records made onto the same magnetic tape.

But now it emerged from the depth of her memory as though it was for real and only yesterday. A second later she was sitting on the Rangermobile's front seat and Dale's hands didn't squeezed her hand but ran over her shoulders and her back, enveloping and screening off the world around them where they had no wish to return at all…

"_Remember how it was? What you felt then?"_

---

"_Dale…you know, I think we're being watched," Gadget whispered, noticing a few curious onlookers with a corner of her eye._

"_Really? Look at me."_

"_Looking."_

"_Who do you see?"_

"_Only you."_

"_And I don't see anyone…but you…"_

---

_Yes, I do remember…_

"_Do you remember how many times you kissed him?"_

_No, I can't…_

"_It's hard to count the uncountable, isn't it?"_

_Yes, but… But that doesn't count! I mean, it's different! It can't be… can't be that…_

"_What was it, then? Pity? Compassion? Amending your guilt?"_

_Maybe… A bit of each…_

"_You __are mixing thing up. That was in Chip's case…"_

_Sure it was! I love him, too, after all!_

"_Yes, you do. But not that way. Differently. Remember what you felt up on the tree and what ― in the garage. And think. Think very well…"_

_Well, in the garage it was… just some delusion, confusion, stress… I― I don't know what it was!_

"_Don't lie to me, Gadget! Don't lie to yourself! You know what it was! You explained it to Chip just some minutes ago! He too thought it was… How did he put it? '__Some momentary weakness'? And what did you tell him?"_

_That… That it was love…_

"_Well, you answered yourself. No answer him. He's waiting."_

_But… But I have no idea what to say to him…_

"_In that case, let's start proofing by contradiction. Do you want to say 'no' to him?"_

_No, I don't want to…_

"_What's left, then?"_

_Well, for instance, say nothing…_

"_And lose everything? Lose him? And you'll lose him. You are losing him already…"_

_Lose? Why lose?_

"_You are losing him…"_

_No, I don't! He's sitting next to me, holding my hand and… GOSH!_

Gadget gave a start and opened her eyes. She was sitting in the same white corridor on the same bench with the same clock on the wall. Everything was the same. Except one thing. Dale held her hand no longer. He didn't leave; he was still sitting right next to her. But now his hands were resting on his knees, his fists clutched, and he was looking not on her but into the corridor's opposite end.

Gadget grabbed him by his sleeve. "Dale!"

Chipmunk slowly turned to her and a sigh of relief stuck in the mouse's throat. Dale's face was flabby and his eyes were empty. Just like in the hospital underground garage after losing Morgan. That is, according to the laws of temporal logic, like never before.

"Dale…" Gadget muttered, unable to say anything else.

"Gadget…" He responded after some pause. "I understand. I understand everything…"

"Wait, Dale! Please, I… I wanted…"

Gadget couldn't finish the phrase. She sobbed once, then once again, and finally burst into tears.

_What is this?! _She scolded herself. _How can it be?! What a kind of mouse am I?! How many times do I need to lose everything to realize it?! To tell it?! How many?!_

"Oh boy, Gadget!" Dale shouted. He interpreted her long silence and these tears in an absolutely different way. "I'm sorry, I… I mustn't have! I didn't know! Forgive me! It's my fault! Please, don't cry! Forget it! Forget it, please! Okay, I… See, I'm leaving! I'm leaving! Don't cry, I'm leaving…"

"NO!!!"

Gadget's scream seemed to shake the foundations of entire hospital and Dale who started to rise suddenly found himself gripped in a vice. Surely he'd never been gripped in a vice before to tell exactly, but he was absolutely sure he'd have felt the same. He could neither move not inhale normally. The only thing he was capable of was to sit half-turned with bulging eyes and opened mouth and listen to supplications of the mouse inventor who pressed herself to him.

"Don't, Dale…! Please, don't go…! Please… I beg you… Don't go… I… I… I love you, Dale! Please… I love you-u-u-u…"

"Really…?" Dale asked in hoarse voice, tears welling up in his eyes because of feelings overflow and her tight grip.

"Yes, Dale! Please, believe me! It's… It's true! Don't go! Don't go-o-o-o…"

"Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy…" Dale muttered. He could nothing but swallow tears rolling down his cheeks and lips. Now he was in the same condition as Chip soon after regaining his consciousness. But if Chip was regaining the ability to move with each passing seconds, Dale was losing it steadily, because after each of his careful movements mouse's embrace grew tighter and her pleadings ― more compassionate.

"Please, Dale, stay… Don't leave me… Don't leave me… Forgive… Forgive me-e-e-e…"

"But Gadget… Let me just…" Dale tried to move his shoulders but Gadget considered it an attempt to break free and clasped him even tighter.

"Don't, Dale! Don't go! I love you, Dale! Please, believe me! Don't go-o-o…!"

"I… I won't go…" Dale whispered lacking air for more clear and loud speech. "I won't go, Gadget… I won't go anywhere…"

"Promise?" the mouse asked lifting her tearful face.

"Swear…" chipmunk exhaled the last air from his lungs into her ear. Gadget sobbed a couple more times and warily loosened her grip, and screamed when Dale's freed hands shot out sideways. She wanted to cry and stop him but she couldn't make a sound, because now Dale pressed her to himself tightly taking her breath away and make tears splash from her eyes. This time it was another kind of tears, the one and only you can shed while embracing the dearest and closets being on earth. And they both shed them very generously…

"Gosh, Gadget…" chipmunk whispered as soon as he regained the ability to talk. "I… You can't imagine how long I dreamt of hearing these words from you… For entirety, maybe… For my whole life…"

"Forgive me, Dale… Forgive me for― for not telling them earlier… I didn't knew, didn't understand, didn't noticed… Golly-y-y…"

"What, Gadget? What is this for? It's okay… Everything's okay…"

"I know… I know, Dale… I knew it back then… Back then already… Golly…"

The chipmunk didn't quite get it. "When 'then'?"

"When you caught me during our hunt for the flying carpets."

Dale smiled, flabbergasted. He didn't expect to hear anything like that. "Seriously? I couldn't think that moment is as important for you as it is for me. And it's very important for me…"

"Really?"

"Unreally! Every time I thought about you, in other words, very often, I recalled that moment! Remembered everything to the tiniest detail! How you climbed down and started falling, and I was running around praying to happen in the right place…"

Gadget waved him to stop. "Wlatchally, I was talking about other moment, when we were falling together after I shut the carpet down with a magnet. You held me with your hand during entire fall and when the plunger caught you, even with both of them. And you were smiling. But all that time your eyes were so… serious. Full of joy, but at the same time very serious. Just the way dad looked at me while spinning me around in the air or flying with me in our plane. Even if something went wrong, even in the most critical situation he remained calm and smiled, even joked. But his eyes were serious, as if saying 'trust me, I know what I'm doing and I promise everything will be okay'. And I believed him and calmed down instantly, certain that nothing bad could ever happen to me. Just couldn't happen, you understand?"

"I do."

"That's what I saw in your eyes then. That's how I felt. For the first time since my father's death I felt it… Back then… No traps, even the deadliest of them, could bring that feeling of safety back to me. And you did it…"

"Wovie…" Dale said thoughtfully. "I didn't know that… But I remember another moment better. I still remember catching you, how you fell into my arms, gazed at me with your sparkling eyes with every single star on the sky reflecting in them and said 'Thank you, Dale'. Then put your arms around my neck and pressed your cheek to my shoulder. And I just stood there, unable to move or to say anything, anything at all. I just stood there, holding you and knowing that I could stand like that for hours without feeling tired. Because of you. You were with me and so— so close, like never before and never after… Though no, there was once… One time when you… Well…"

Gadget lowered her eyes. "I think I know what you mean. You're talking about me…"

"…smooching me," Dale finished for her. "Well, I didn't know it was you but… but I wished it had been you and when I found out it was you I… I just didn't know what to think or do, for it was… Well, it was difficult so I doubted and…"

"No, Dale. It wasn't a part of the script," Gadget answered without waiting for a question.

"Wow, wow, wow…" Dale repeated several times. "I― I wanted to ask you about that smoochorama many times, wanted to make sure what it was. I told myself that any your answer would do, even if you said that it was nothing more than a game trick to lure me in. But each time I… Well, I realized that I was afraid of your answer, afraid of hearing that it… that it meant nothing…"

Gadget rubbed her face and looked at him. "You know, Dale, it's good you didn't ask. Earlier, I mean."

"You mean, you'd have…"

"I don't know what I would've said," she confessed. "I just don't know. I… Only recently I realized I have feelings for you, and before that I'd probably have said the same I said to Chip, that all spies do it and the like… Not that I lied, I didn't know what it was myself and decided to think it over later but so much happened that it went further and further down my memory lane and… and I almost forgot about it entirely… Golly, Dale, I'm so sorry… I mustn't have forgotten it, it was cruel, no, felonious on my side…"

"Don't say that, Gadget!" Dale caressed Gadget's cheek to keep her from crying again. "It's not your fault! It's me who should feel ashamed for his cowardice. It's me, not you, who must have been first to ask about it. But I grew scared, scared of truth. That is, possible truth. To be honest, I always thought you liked Chip more than me. After all, he's the leader, he's stronger and smarter than me. That's why I wanted to tell you I love you many times but… I was afraid of hearing 'no' which would be a death sentence for me. For my dream… For my dream and my love, my one and only love which I'll never feel to anyone else…"

"Golly, Dale…" Gadget passed her fingers over his cheeks soaked with tears. "You say such beautiful things! These your words about your true love, your dream… they are beautiful! As beautiful as unexpected, and because they are so unexpected they are so beautiful, unexpectedly beautiful! And I used to consider your words and deeds…"

"Silly?" Dale finished. "Well, I must admit…"

"No, Dale!" the inventor hastily objected. "I wouldn't say that! Rather, not very serious… Though… On the other hand… Golly-y-y-y…"

"OH BOY! GADGET!" Dale yelled when her words changed into deafened sobs. He tried to take her by her hand but she pressed them too tightly to her face, so he started hitting himself in the forehead with his fists. "Forgive me! Excuse me! I don't know how it escaped me! I didn't mean that! I didn't want to say anything bad about you! I'm fool! Fool! Gadget, love! Forgive me! FORGIVE ME, PLEASE!!!"

"No, Dale!" Gadget stopped him by grabbing his hand raised for another blow. "It's not your fault! I must apologize! All this time I used to treat you as a comic books, action films and heavy music fan! But after these your words, after everything you said I realized that I was blind like a mole, now, like a hundred of moles taken together! Golly, do you remember how we went to the sewers after Rat Capone, how you played a girl? I told you to go and get help… A medical, psychiatric help, Dale! But… But your plan was ingenious! Really ingenious and it worked with no problems! And I… I didn't even apologize to you… Please, Dale, forgive me if you can… Please…"

Dale laughed. "What are you talking about, Gadget? I forgot about it long ago! So many years have passed, so many things happened… And you still remember it?"

"Like it was yesterday…" Gadget answered and dug her nose into the fur on his neck. Chipmunk embraced her and carefully scratched tender skin at the base of her ear, covered by thick hair. Gadget answered by rubbing his neck with her nose, making him giggle.

"Gadget, stop! It tickles!"

"You started it!" Gadget answered looking at him, and Dale was relieved to finally see a smile on her face. That shiny smile he used to see all these years and could live no longer without it.

"Trust me, Gadget, you have nothing to scold yourself for," he said softly. "Like you said, I'm comic books, action films and heavy music fan. The point is that for a very long time I perceive them differently… Absolutely differently…"

"I bet it has something to do with one certain bat girl…" Gadget said jokingly, remembering about Dale's long nights of movie marathons with Foxglove. But Dale's reaction was absolutely unexpected. He shook and glanced at her, as if expecting sudden stab, then looked aside.

"Yes, I…"

_Golly…_ Gadget thought. _They must have parted in an unpleasant way… And I reminded him… _She pressed her fingers to his lips, trying to amend the situation. "Dale, I'm sorry! I didn't want to! If it's hard for you, please, forget about it! Let's not talk about it, okay?"

Dale shook his head. "No, Gadget. You have the right to know. You must know. Please, let me tell you."

His voice trembled, but his black eyes radiated unshakeable determination. He felt he must say what he was carrying for all these years. Say it now or never. Gadget knew it, so she gently touched Dale's face with her paw showing her understanding and nodded.

"Sure Dale. If you say so, I'm listening."

"Thanks, Gadget. You remember how we met? How she treated me?"

"Yes."

"She became attached to me very quickly, almost from the start. She often visited us and we talked about things…" Dale shrugged. "I felt, well, uneasy, you know… Good but at the same time uneasy. I wasn't used to girls throwing themselves at me. But then I thought that it's just temporary, well, crush, like Tammy had on Chip. After all, we saved her from the hands of that wicked witch so it wasn't strange she felt affection for us and me in particular. Quite natural, or so I thought. But I was sure that, like in Tammy's case, it will pass. No, I enjoyed our friendship, her joyful greetings, her laughing to my jokes, her flying with me… that is, me with her… Whatever… But I never though it could be serious, so serious."

Dale swallowed a limp in his throat. Introduction was over. It was time for culmination.

"You know, after three― yes, three months she… I remember it very well, it was autumn. The leaves were yellow and we ran around the park gathering bunches of yellow and red leaves, then flew up, she's on her own wings, I'm on the glider, and threw them down from above. Our private little leaf falls…"

He went into the tiniest, sometimes excessive details for a reason, trying to postpone the unpleasant matters but at the same time whipping himself up to remember everything, without omissions, and to discourage himself beforehand from concealing something.

"One of those days, that is, it was late evening, we were sitting on the branch above our hangar, and she was telling me what's going on in the darkness below us. You know, bats can do it, they have this… thingy…"

"Sonar," Gadget helped him.

"Yes-yes, sonar! And so she's telling me that a squirrel ran in the grass below us, a sparrow landed on a branch, a leaf darted past driven by the wind… So interesting! And then… Then she said 'There, on that bench, just under that burned out lamp post, two people are sitting. A guy and a girl. Just like you and me…' I asked 'Really? Like we? They're listening the darkness, too? But they don't have…' She laughed and said 'No, cutie, they're listening not the darkness but each other.' 'Do you hear them?' 'Sure, just like you!' 'And what are they talking about?' 'Oh, many things. Though they speak very little. Just two, three words at a time.' 'What time?' 'Time between…' And suddenly she―"

Dale shook tangibly and Gadget had to squeeze his paw tightly to calm him down and let him continue.

"Turned out, she was moving closer all this time, and I didn't noticed how she was right next to me. And after these words she suddenly clasped me with her wings and kissed me. Just like you during that spy games.

"I was embarrassed, I asked her what it meant, and she said 'I love you, silly-billy! Haven't you understood it yet?' I― I didn't know what to say, giggled nervously, then said I can't, I dunno, and I must drink something for my dry throat…

"I ran down and to the kitchen, barely managed to pour myself a cup of water, spilled a half on the floor, almost slipped on the puddle… Almost choked myself while drinking… Fortunately, you were sleeping already, or watching something… Yes, sure! You watched 'Titanic', and Monty came to the kitchen to get some ice and found me and her there… Oh, she flew in soon after me, and when Monty left, she asked what happened. And I said I love― another girl. You. Yes, I said it like that. 'I love Gadget' I said. It was the first time I said it out loud. Even startled myself with that… No, I mean, back in that bomber I felt I changed forever, but I couldn't really describe that feeling before that. And then I did it. At once.

"Foxglove, though, said I must be joking. If I loved you, she said, I wouldn't spend so much time with her and all that… And on the whole, she said, that she, that is, you, that you didn't love me as much as I, that is, she, loved you, that is, me…"

Dale grew so nervous he started to confuse words. He constantly corrected himself and that made him even more nervous, for each self-correction was another obstacle appearing from nowhere. As a result, the chipmunk felt like an athlete seeing the finish line but still running into new barriers growing right in front of him.

"I had no idea what else to say so I repeated 'Foxglove, I'm sorry, you are a nice girl, I feel good with you, but I love Gadget.' And then she… She―"

This time the pause was significantly longer than usual and Gadget wanted to say something, encourage him somehow, help him overcome this barrier. But then she realized she'd only make worse, for some barriers you must overcome by yourself, without any help.

"And then she started to say… She started… Gadget, I'm sorry… I can't…"

"It's okay, Dale!" the mouse grabbed his paw, interknitting her and his fingers. "Go on, please!"

"Okay… So like I said, she started saying… horrible things. That I'd be unhappy with you. That you didn't love me, that you loved nobody at all because your true love was mechanisms and tools. That you considered me nothing but a funny and dumb-witted fool. That you didn't notice even Chip's clear courting attempts, not to mention those subtle hints of mine. That you were incapable of true feelings. That you didn't value us. That you didn't need us. That you needed no one at all. That you… That you were a soulless and heartless mechanism yourself…"

All this time Dale's paw held by Gadget's hands was shaking, but when he said the final phrase it grew stiff like a stone, and his fingers, crooked and cramped, stuck into skin on the back of her palm. It was painful but Gadget braced herself and didn't let her scream out, even pressed her lips tightly not to give up her pain which was nothing compared to what Dale was experiencing now.

"And then… After these her words, I… I just… You know, I suddenly remembered an episode from Dirk Suave movie and his conversation with the girl who turned out a double agent. Throughout the film they acted together uncovering another of Dr. So-So's schemes, but then everything turned out one big hoax, evasive action, cover for another, much more terrifying crime. Sure, Suave understood everything and prevented it but… But that scene, that dialogue… I liked him so much in that scene. So calm, cold, reserved. Forbidding like a rock and unbreakable like a tank, gyrotank. Yes, like a gyrotank. And I― I became him, for after these words she was nobody else but― but a double agent to me. So I― I braced myself, clenched my teeth, crossed my hands, looked at her with the coldest stare I ever had and― and I answered her…"

Now Dale was outwardly feverish. His voice stayed resolute as before, though sometimes he stuttered and repeated some word for two or three times. But his body rocked under his sweater, and though his fingers were dug into Gadget's hand, she still had to apply efforts to hold his palm in her paws.

"I told her― told her that she understood nothing. That she didn't know what she's talking about. That she didn't know what a true feeling and a true love was. That she had no right to say those things about the most beautiful girl in the world. That she… Here I assumed the role of Dirk Suave completely… That she wormed herself into our confidence to ruin our team from inside, to instill hostility, to make us hate one another…

"She started crying, tried to say something but I didn't hear and didn't listen. I just went on talking, answering each her phrase and each her accusation with one of my own. And finally― finally I said that― that I didn't want to see her― again. Than I turned around and left. And the next morning we found her note. And it was over."

Chipmunk didn't understand why his right hand felt so wet. He looked down and saw it wasn't just water. Gadget dug her face into his shoulder and was crying silently, and his sweater's sleeve was dark-crimson with her tears.

"Gadget!" Dale called bowing down and looking in her face. "Gosh, sorry, I… I mustn't have repeated those things but― but you asked and I… I'm sorry… Don't… Please… Don't cry! Don't _you_ cry, please…"

It took Gadget quite some time to start talking again.

"Forgive me, Dale! I didn't realized, didn't understood… I simply didn't notice anything at all!"

"No, Gadget, it's not your fault! Nobody noticed and understood anything, including me. I―" Dale sobbed heavily and was able to continue only after Gadget soothingly caressed his head. "I― I mustn't have said what I said about her. I must have restrained myself, explain her maybe… I'm sure she'd have understood, just like Tammy did, and stayed with us, became a Rescue Ranger… She would have felt good here, or… At least, we could have parted as friends and not… Gosh, if only I could― If only I could see her, ask her for forgiveness, understanding… But I don't know where she is…"

Gadget looked at him, and Dale saw tenderness, sadness and cold determination in her eyes, all at once. "Everything will be okay, Dale. We'll find her, we'll surely find her and you'll explain everything… Golly, we could have done it long time ago if… Why, Dale? Why didn't you say it before? Why kept it inside yourself for so long? Why didn't you tell us? None of us?"

Dale sobbed deeply and shook his head.

"I couldn't, Gadget. Just couldn't. And didn't want. At first I just didn't want to touch this topic. But later, when I realized everything, I didn't want― didn't want you to think badly of Foxglove. Yes, she said many foul things but― You know, she didn't really mean anything like that about you, she didn't want to alienate us, to corrupt us from the inside or to make something equally horrible. It wasn't rudeness or hatred on her part but desperation and― and care. Offensive, with a bit of 'you catch it, you keep it' attitude, yes, but still care.

"She was doing it for me, because― because she really loved me and wanted me to be happy. Happy, Gadget. She saw what I felt, how I suffer, saw me competing with Chip and thought I would lose eventually and would suffer even greater. So it was desperate way to show me, to make me realize what she was feeling and that she could give me something that, as she thought, I'd never get from you. Give here and now, without need to wait or fight anyone. Give realization that there's a living soul in the world that understood me, and she's here, right next to me, ready to give me love and care and…"

Dale blotted his face with his sweater and went on. "And I… If only I realized it back then. Oh boy… She didn't deserve those words. I hope she's alright, that she found some nice guy and they are happy. I hope it so. It's my only hope… Hope that she forgave me. Though after everything I told her… She… Oh boy, what have I done? I am a monster…"

"Don't say that, Dale! I'm sure she'll understand it when you explain it to her! You aren't a monster, you didn't say it to insult or humiliate her! You were protecting my name and honor, and I'm grateful to you for this! And though it's painful for me to say that but…" Gadget made a deep sigh. "She was mostly right…"

"No, Gadget!" Dale objected heatedly and shook his head so strongly that salty splashes flew everywhere. "It's not true! You are an ideal, an angel! You are the best in the world!"

"Thanks for these words, Dale, but for a very long time I didn't paid to you and Chip attention that you both deserved and that I must have paid you. And I paid for this… almost…" Gadget screwed her eyes to drive away the visions of the past which existed for her alone. "Trust me, we all make deeds for which we later become very sorry, but everything can be corrected. That is, almost everything, but… You know, sometimes something like that just must happen in order to… I dunno… To open our eyes, maybe…"

"You…" Dale whispered, visibly brightening. "You really think so? Are you sure?"

"I know," the mouse answered and her soft and confident tone dispersed the last, the heaviest and most oppressing clouds.

"Yes, sure," Dale agreed. "You are a prophet, you know everything… And I really changed. Take those comic books for instance. Before that I was interested in fights and monsters only, but now it's different. After that evening, after the realization that I love you, I started to find the things there I never noticed before! Yes, there are horrible monsters and villains on their covers, but there is much more than that inside. The real friendship, real self-sacrifice, real bravery and the real love…"

"Really?"

"Yes! Sure there's only little of it, just maybe a dozen panels in the whole book, but it makes finding of them even more rewarding, like finding a tiny gold nugget after sifting through a mountain of sand. The same's with action movies and rock music. So deep things can be found sometimes… If it wasn't for that episode, I'd never see anything of it, would never realized that you are my only real love. Only you, Gadget. Only you alone."

Dale fell silent. Gadget said nothing, too, and they sat there in complete silence, holding each other's hands and seeing only one another. Gadget was looking into chipmunk's eyes sparkling with moisture, astonished by her own ability to overlook the obvious. She was waiting for her friends to find their way and make the most important choice of their lives and she couldn't even think that one of them did it long ago, especially that it was Dale. Though everything was in front of her, she need only look closer and see it. Moreover, she has seen it already.

It was on the very first of those 'other Saturdays'. After having listened to A-Kha disc she found in his collection, she saw his quirks with hockey stick and pads not as manifestation of his real character but as extravagant carnival dress covering sensitive and vulnerable heart. She knew it while kissing him in the Rangermobile, knowing that he needed her like never before. Not because he was weak and lost his heart in the face of catastrophe but because he took Morgan's death as a personal tragedy despite seeing him for the first time in his life. That's why he turned out stronger than Chip who, unlike Dale, her love couldn't return.

It was on the 'second' of Saturdays, 13th. Other Saturdays filled with running and hasty searching for a way to save the plane, like any truly grand technological project, made her forget about it. And when she found out Dale hadn't really listened to them, it seemed to cross everything out.

But it wasn't like that. It could never be like that because the disks are props, not the essence which the fact of listening to the disks could never change. Just like it couldn't deny Dale's inborn curiosity and irresistible thirst for knowledge and skills which, given the motivation was right, allowed him to achieve astonishing success like his spy-suit and the model of 'Condor' aircraft decorating the corner table in her room.

It could deny nothing. Neither his easily carried away nature constantly opened for new impressions which was so close to Gadget's whose fondness often excelled all reasonable and unreasonable limits. Nor his kindness and ability to empathize with not only close friends but also strangers like Morgan and even artificial creatures like electric cat Tom. Nor the choice he had made once and for all which allowed him to see the stories of love hidden by comic books violent covers and the starlit sky instead of Bobbie's room's ceiling. And surely it couldn't deny that overwhelming feeling that encompasses everything mentioned above and much more which can't be described even with a million of words. For who needs a million when three are enough…

"I love you, Dale," Gadget said.

"I love you too, honey," Dale answered.

"Honey…" she repeated and looked down on his paw caressing the fingers of her left hand, obviously paying more attention to the ring one.

"Well…" Dale knew she guessed his maneuver and became red as his Hawaiian shirt after washing. "I know I rush the things but… But I've been waiting it for so long and thought so much about it that… No, I'll understand if you say that you need more time… Oh! I forgot! There's one more thing! I―"

"No, Dale!" the blonde inventor stopped him. "Nothing's needed! Neither time nor additional arguments nor other words! Nothing, Dale! Nothing at all!"

"You mean…"

"I love you and it's more than enough. I'll marry you."

"Oh boy, oh boy…" chipmunk muttered. Letting Gadget's hands go, he put his paws on her shoulders and stopped, hesitating. This time Gadget helped him, taking her goggles off and putting them on the bench next to her.

"Oh…" Dale reacted, running his hand over her hair and straightening few unruly locks. "I wanted to do exactly that!"

"I know," Gadget answered, putting her hands around her promised husband's neck. He followed suit, their faces came closer and they turned their heads sideways to avoid colliding with noses.

"I love you," Dale whispered.

"I love you, too," the answer came.

They drew towards one another slowly, not fully believing everything was happening for real and preparing to hit another, this time really impenetrable wall appearing between them. That's why they were surprised to fell their lips touching. They half-opened their eyes and looked at one another, as if making sure everything's alright, then synchronously inhaled deeply and joined in kiss, the first and the most important for every loving couple, which forever separates their lives into 'before' and 'after'. Which is similar for all the couples and at the same time absolutely different, for every couple puts their own content in it, and their own road they passed on a way to this moment. And this particular chipmunk and this particular field mouse had what to put into this kiss. They came through everything. Through death traps and enemies' schemes; through parting which is worse than the most vicious intentions; and through misunderstanding which is far more dangerous than everything else combined.

Making a short break to inhale a new portion of air, they kissed again, consolidating their achievement. Then did it again, and then again, stopping for a short time only, enough to breathe in and say two or three words.

"I love you, Gadget…"

"I love you, Dale…"

"My dear…"

"My love…"

"Gadget…"

"Dale…"

"Gadget, listen…"

"Later…"

"No, Gadget, I…"

"Remember what you said in the airport?'

"Yeah, but…"

"Shut up and drive…"

"Absolutely, but I'd like…"

"Dale, if you're talking… about time, you said… we've got… plenty of it…"

"It's not about time…"

"The rest is not important…"

"Important, Gadget, very imp…"

"Later…"

"Dear, I'm not joking…"

"Me neither…"

"Gadget, I… I'm serious…!"

"Okay… I'm listening… Go on…"

"Gadget…" Dale finally managed to squeeze her paw between their faces and gently move away from her. "It's important!"

"How?"

"Very! Very much!"

"It's something pleasant, I hope?"

"Very, Gadget! I just need to take one thing out of my pocket…"

"Out of your pocket?" Gadget wondered. "On your sweater?"

Dale smiled broadly. "Yeah! Where do you think I carry my bubble gum in winter?"

"If it turns out you did it to get yourself a bubble gum," Gadget purred moving on him, "I'll take my semi-automatic electric hair styler with straightening and drying functions back from Mister Nutson and start making an outrage…"

"Gadget, even a joke lover like me wouldn't dare to―"

"Then here's my advice: don't waste time. My patience has its limits, you know…"

"I do, I do!" Dale nodded quickly shoving his hand into his bosom and fetching a slightly crumpled piece of paper from the inner pocket.

"What's that?" Gadget asked.

"Read it," Dale said. He was smiling but his pose was strained and the paper's slight trembling showed he was very agitated. Gadget shrugged and took it, and when she unfolded it she immediately recognized the blank issued by multifunctional analyzer, the form of which she personally programmed.

It was comparative blood analysis used to determine whether the blood of a patient who needed transfusion matched the samples from the blood bank. But this particular analysis wasn't limited to comparing groups and Rhesus factors and included comparison of all known parameters. The table was divided into two graphs labeled by donor's nine digits code. The first code was hers while the other, according to the first digit, belonged not to a constant donor like her but a one-time one who donated blood not too long ago. The values of all the parameters differed greatly as is always the case when the blood of representatives of two different species is analyzed.

The data in the last group, 'Genetic compatibility', were puzzling though. These parameters matched almost entirely! They were so close that if one tore the top part away, he would think that these samples belonged to very close relatives.

"Where did you get it? Whose blood you compared mine with? What does it mean?" she asked in rapid succession upon finishing reading.

"We can have children. With mine. Ordered in the lab," Dale answered in the opposite order because she remembered the last things the best.

"You ordered it? But… WHAT DID YOU SAY?!!" Gadget scanned the pivot table again. Dale was right. Analyzer determined mutual genetic compatibility with effective crossing probability of 98.878451%.

"Golly, Dale…" Gadget was on the verge of losing her consciousness. "I can't believe it… Can't believe it…"

"I didn't believe it, too. And the lab assistant who did the analysis believed it neither. We ran the test for two more times and both times results were the same. It's true, Gadget. The machine doesn't lie."

"But… But why? How? How can it be?"

"I dunno, I'm not a specialist. But… Remember that story with Chip's blood?"

"Yes, you were the only suitable donor…"

"And so I thought, how can it be? Sure I could say anything I want about us being as close as brothers but jokes are jokes and I'm not his relative at all, but I was the only chipmunk known to this analyzer whose blood was suitable and with best results possible! And then I remembered your words about Bottlebottom, I wasn't in the reactor room with you, so it couldn't be explained by radiation effects. But this idea made me remembering every strange occurrences we went through together which could lead to this anormality…"

"Anomaly."

"Yeah, anomaly! And I recalled the modemizer…"

---

"_Hey, Dale, why do I have your shirt?"_

"_You've got more of me than just my shirt!"_

---

"Golly…" Gadget had to lean against the wall and grab the seat with both hands in order not to fall down. "You want to say that that body switching made us… exchange our genes?!"

"Something like that, yes. And not only us. Remember…"

"Chip and Monty…"

Dale nodded. "Exactly! That's the point! I exchanged genes with you while Chip ― with Monty! We're chipmunks, you are mice! That's why only my blood suits him! Because we're not quite chipmunks!"

"So, you are half-mice?"

"No, half is too much! Two tenth maximum. But that's quite enough! That's why no clear chipmunk blood suits him, only the blood of chipmunk who exchanged bodies with a mouse! And that's why my blood suits the mouse who exchanged bodies with the chipmunk! That is, you, Gadget."

"Golly, Dale… You… You determined all of it? Calculated probabilities? Predicted all the compatibilities? You… You're a genius!"

Dale thoughtfully scratched his nose. "Actually, it was Stewart, the lab assistant, who explained it to me after we got the results. And I just… The moment I thought about the modemizer I ran straight to your laboratory to order that analysis. I remembered you were the honorary donor and your blood was in the database already, just like mine, so neither of us had to give any additional blood. Yes, it was that's easy. Though while the machine was working I was running around it repeating to myself 'If only it worked! If only it worked!' I'm not a specialist, so I couldn't really base it firmly on some theory. I could only dream. And I began to dream. Dared to dream. And it worked, as you can see… GADGET! WHAT HAPPENED?!"

"Nothing…" Gadget answered wiping the flowing tears with her collar. "Everything is okay… Everything is just great…"

"But why are you crying then?"

"It's… It's because of happiness, Dale! You― you don't know what it means to me."

"I know it, Gadget," Dale objected, embracing her. "It means the same for me, but… But there's no need to cry. Tears don't suit you, you know…"

"They suit you even less, Dale."

"In that case," chipmunk said brushing off the moisture from his eye-lids, "let's both stop crying. What do you think of it?"

"I'm positive!" the mouse answered, hugging and kissing him. Dale did the same, and the time stopped for them. The kissed and caressed one another, trying to remove every single trace of tears they shed this day with their lips and hands. So that later, already without them and free from burden of past troubles and hardships, they could step on the long and happy road of family life and travel along it, hand in hand, knowing for sure that no little problems, no imprudent words and deeds will shatter their union and keep them from being always together. And they knew they would do everything, both possible and impossible, to preserve their love and their happiness, for they both knew what price they had paid in order to be here today next to each other. But nothing stopped them, and they overcame every barrier built by destiny and the Nature itself, and now, in each other's embrace, they knew it was worth it. Dale tenderly stroked Gadget's hair and behind her ears, and she twined her tail around him to make sure he wouldn't disappear. That wasn't needed, though, for no force in the world could tear him away from the dearest creature in the world, from the love of his life now…

"Guys! Where are you?! Everybody's waiting for ya… OH!" Monty who came running searching for them froze in the doors and blushed. "Sorry, I…"

"It's okay, Monty!" Gadget said putting the precious paper with the test results in her pocket and putting her goggles back on. "We're coming! Right, Dale?"

"Sure!" he confirmed, getting up and helping her up.

"Erhm, would you be so kind to explain what's going here?" Monty asked. "That is, I know how it's called and what usually means but…"

"We'll surely explain everything, Monty!" Gadget promised, and Dale added "Certainly, Uncle Monty! But later! Right, dear?"

Gadget giggled. "Darn right!" And they left, their arms linked.

"'Uncle Monty', 'dear'…" the Aussie repeated thoughtfully following them with his eyes. Then he winded his moustache on his finger valiantly and smiled. "Too-rah-loo! And I was sure I won't live long enough to see that…"

*** 2 ***

"…And in conclusion of the daily part of our meeting so to say, I'd like to thank all of you one more time, for without you this hospital wouldn't have lasted even for a week! For, as Mister Harold correctly said in his speech, the true enthusiasm and sincere devotion to the common cause are capable of things no money in the world can do!"

Dr. Harvey Stone's voice, magnified by desktop speakers hanging in the corners of the hall, gradually spread about the room filled with workers and patients of the Small Central Hospital. Such meetings always demanded coming full dressed but this occasion was even more special so everybody did their best to fit it. The roomscape was dominated by white color of nursemen's shirts and nurses' gowns, and separate clusters of orderlies' grey uniforms, patients' blue pajamas and technical stuff's dark-blue jackets made the hall look like a festive table cloth covered with multicolored patches. Sure, it wasn't as tackily colorful as the crowd of Coo-Coo Cola cultists after mass soda showering, but the strictness of its tones made the meeting not insolent but staidly ceremonial.

Still, there was no lack of brilliance either; after all, this celebration had been prepared for more than a week for a reason. The vivid (in all senses of this word) evidence of it were gules, azure and golden ribbons that flowed over the walls and the ceiling, coming together at the large Rescue Rangers symbol hanging above the stage. The outlines of the oval, letters and lightning bolt were laid with the lamps of appropriate colors ready to light up at the signal eagerly anticipated by the audience and the Rangers who gathered behind the curtain.

"Where are they?! Where?!" Dale kept repeating nervously glancing at the doors to the backstage area and then at the audience bored by the formal prelude and eagerly waiting for the main part of the event. Unfortunately, it had to be delayed because of Monty's and Zipper's absence.

"It's unbelievable!" Dale went on. "I knew we had to take our vibro-transceivers with us!"

Gadget touched his shoulder. "Don't worry, Dale! They are changing themselves, that's all!"

"Changing… By that time they could fly to the HQ and back! I wouldn't be surprised to hear that Monty is chasing some cheese truck passing by and they are somewhere near Bridgewater Milk Factory now!"

"Come on, Dale! I don't see any problems!"

Dale shook. "But I see! Poor Harvey is running out of words already!"

Chip couldn't pass up the opportunity to egg on his friend. "It's good he's the emcee and not you! You would've started repeating yourself after five minutes already!"

"I wouldn't!"

"Would too!"

"I wouldn't!"

"Would too!"

"I wouldn't…"

Their argument was interrupted by the door behind them opening and their friends coming in, dressed to kill. Their matte black tail coats, shining white shirts and high shining top hats matched the best suits of Dr. Stone and even Harold Bucksup III and Perry Nutson who were sitting at the table near the podium.

It didn't save them from Dale's fiery criticism, though. "What took you so long?! Couldn't you change faster?"

Zipper buzzed something negative. Monty supported him. "Surely not, kid!" he said tapping the brims of his hat with his finger. "Ya must be fully armed on the days like this! After all, our Chip's only rarely gets discharged from the hospital…"

Gadget gave him one of her famous grim looks and he quickly corrected himself. "I mean, that's very good! But ya won't argue he deserved this celebration, so we oughtta match!"

Dale suddenly found himself the only one dressed not good enough for an occasion and started to feel uneasy.

"Erhm, I just thought…" he mumbled plucking at his sweater. "Monty, don't you have a spare coat by chance? I'm looking like…"

"A scarecrow?" Chip prompted caustically.

"What? I'll show you!" Dale exclaimed but then Gadget interjected.

"Here, Dale, take it!" she said and took her bomber jacket off. Dale extended his hand to take it and froze with dumfounded smile, looking at her dress now fully visible. It was blue with a very low neck and large sand-colored buttons, and it suited her so much it was really hard to look away…

"You're looking into a wrong direction, dear…" Mildred cooed into Chip's ear and painfully pinched his paw making him stop gazing at the inventor and turn his attention back to her.

"You are jealous," the chipmunk stated.

"If only a little, maybe."

Chip looked straight into her eyes. "A little? No, Millie, not little. And don't argue, because I'm a pro at this particular feeling."

"Okay, okay, you got me…" the nurse surrendered. "Yes, I'm jealous. After all, I know she means much to you, that you are old friends and, well, she's beautiful, which means…"

"Nothing, honey," Chip interrupted her and smiled. "Yes, she's my old friend. They both are my old and closest friends in the world. That's why you have nothing to worry about, trust me."

"I do if you say so…" Mildred put her head on his shoulder and giggled when Chip's warm nose touched her crown. "What are you doing now?"

"I have no idea," the answer came, deafened by her dense hair, and the nose was joined by the lips.

"Chip, don't! You'll ruin my hairdo and I am to enter the stage!"

"As you say…" Chip grumbled taking his head back with obvious displeasure. Mildred immediately proceeded to remove the aftermath of this intrusion which caused the amount of destruction comparable with that of nomadic invasion.

"Gosh, gosh, gosh…" she lamented. "How can I appear in everybody's presence now?"

"Come on, Millie, what are you talking about? You look great! By the way, those eddies give you additional charm, some touch of mystery…"

"Stop it!" Millie kicked Chip's ankle slightly. "I worked so hard arranging them, and you…"

"If you don't like it, you can take my hat!"

"What? It doesn't suit the dress in case you didn't notice!"

Chip leant to her and whispered significantly. "Well, just between you and me, that jacket doesn't suit Dale either so you'd better think…"

Mildred sighed. "Either you know nothing about clothing, or you're trying to cheer me up."

Chip didn't argue. "It's both. But I'm serious about the hat…"

"Oh, stop it. It would only make worse." Millie waved off. She defeated her unruly hair and everything was back on its track. "Though I must say that the jacket suits your friend very well! It makes him looking like a real pilot!"

Chip shook his head violently. "No-no-no! Gadget is our pilot!"

Mildred winked slyly. "I know. So who's jealous now?"

"Erhm…" Chip blushed slightly. "If only a little, a very-very little… Years of competition leave the scars, you know."

"Oh, yes, I forgot I'm dealing with an old soldier who doesn't know words of love here."

"Well, I'd say that's overstatement," Chip said after some thinking. "After all, I found the words, and Dale is one hundred times older soldier than me! He held it out while I fell before you, defeated outright…"

"Regret it?"

"No, Millie, not at all," Chip assured her, embracing tightly. "It's the sweetest, even Pyrrhic surrender in my life, and I'm infinitely happy with it!"

"Me, too!" Mildred whispered. "And your friends, too, it seems! They are nice couple, don't you think?"

"Yes, very. Surprisingly so," her fiancé agreed, turning back to Dale and Gadget. They talked about something in low voices, time and again laughing quietly. It looked like the red-nosed chipmunk was retelling his partner some horror movie as he made frightening and terrified faces in turn and even zipped his jacket completely so that only his muzzle stuck out of the collar.

Gadget laughed and helped him lower it back, and when Dale's head was finally released from the cotton prison, he placed a smooch of gratitude on his savior's lips.

Previously this scene would have insulted Chip deeply, but now his heart was full of joy for his friends' joint happiness, and his mind was still trying to digest all the reverses of fortune and functioning of Nimnuls telephone-porting device.

Surely, Gadget immediately presented her own theory, and not just a single one, panted out in a rapid succession so her calculations didn't really clarify anything. Not to mention that Chip didn't really listened, terrified with the possibility that the irreversible changes mad to his organism would impair his family life with Millie. But Dale calmed him down and explained that the very first of Chip's blood test showed that while he could accept blood from the other 'victims' of the modemizer only, in terms of donorship he was an ordinary chipmunk. Mildred immediately pointed out that this didn't make him any less special and even unique, supporting her claim with equally unique kiss, after which only two options remained: to die or to repeat it. Obviously, Chip chose the latter…

"…And now the moment we all have been long waiting for!" Dr. Stone announced pointing at the curtain. "The time has come to invite here, on this stage, those without whom this meeting would have had not festive but funeral mood, and the history of our hospital could have ended without really beginning! I want you, dear colleagues, to welcome our heroic friends! Meet the Rescue Rangers!"

The loud knock of the power switch turning on the stage lights and the Rangers emblem's illumination vanished in the thunder of applause. It lasted all the time while our heroes were crossing the scene, heading towards the rostrum where Dr. Stone stood and the long table where Mister Harold and Mister Nutson sat. Mildred hesitated a bit, not sure if the doctor's words applied to her. But Chip's reassuring nod eliminated all the doubts and she joined the others. The team greeted the emcees and lined up near the table while Mister Harold exchanged places with Doctor Stone. He adjusted the mike, coughed and spoke.

"Well, as they say, it didn't take me a half an hour to be back at this podium and address you once again. The occasion is different this time, though. All this time we spoke about our future projects and we all agreed that the brave and resolute can do everything. Especially when their bravery is pecuniary supported. But sometimes even that is not enough, since money and determination is nothing without the most important thing. A purpose."

Harold Bucksup regained consciousness before Chip, but his organism weakened by age still hadn't recovered completely. The motor functions were restoring very slowly and despite the doctors' efforts some muscles still didn't obey him. It was especially evident when he was speaking, with his mouth looking like separate video fragment dubbed over static image. The resulting sight wasn't pleasant but no one pulled a face or smiled in his or her sleeve. Everybody knew firsthand what he endured, so even in his current condition he was an example of limitless will to live, proving once again that there's nothing impossible in this world for those with brave heart.

"That's what a good share of my life was dedicated to. I'm speaking of searching for purpose. Real, high purpose which is worth spending the fortune amassed by your ancestors and which is so ephemeral it's very hard to catch, and it's even more harder to avoid mistakes while doing it.

"You all know the story of the Cola Cult so there's no need for me to retell it. I want to say just one thing ― it was a mistake. I made a mistake because I chose a very easy purpose. The fizzing of all my money and cheese didn't require any wisdom or hard work, and that's what won me over. I'm ashamed to confess it, but I was led to the Cult by the ostentatious easiness of getting rid of all my money along with the burden of searching for the best use for them.

"And you know what? I felt much better after that. Everything became much simpler and easier. But at the same time, though I realized it much later, very primitive. At that time I was happy, feeling free like never before. I'm sorry for being repetitive, but it was primitive, non-committal freedom. But it suited me so much I'd never have escaped from this sweet slavery. But the help came, and I was saved. You all know by whom."

He fell silent making way to another uproar of applause dedicated to Rescue Rangers. The heroes smiled in embarrassment and made unanimous low bows earning another portion of ovations.

"This episode became a breaking point for me," Harold Bucksup continued. "I realized that there are no simple ways, and those who seem so lead nowhere but to the mousetrap…"

_I can second that…_ Chip thought, wincing with mental pain. Despite being a huge fan of Sureluck Jones and his talent's dedicated admirer, he fell into the trap the genius detective warned his fellow Blotson many times about ― often simple solutions are investigator's false friends…

"…I also realized that you must find your purpose by yourself, and only this purpose can be the real one, and only the way towards it and reaching it can bring you true happiness. Hard, suffered out happiness.

"Now, my friends, when I look back at the road behind me, I know I'm happy. Really happy. And now I realize clearer than ever that I have some unpaid debts which I want to pay right here and now, in your presence. Dear Rescue Rangers, please, come here!"

The team did it and stopped at the edge of the stage, shooting curious glances at the patron and his attorney who was taking parcels wrapped in fancy red paper from under the table.

"Mister Harold, it's unneeded…" Chip began pointing at the presents but Bucksup stopped him with a move of his hand.

"Quite the contrary, Mister Chip! I spoke about the way to happiness and the debts unpaid for a reason. I didn't thank you after the Cola Cult affair because at that time I knew nothing of it. And when I finally realized, I wanted to meet you and say it all, but, to my great regret, I couldn't because of lack of time or your absence from the city. But now, after you saved my life not only figuratively but literary, too, I'll do my best to make up for it."

"But…"

"Mister Chip, I'm perfectly aware that you and your team work gratis. That's why I ask you to consider these modest gifts not as payment for the good you did which just can't be measured in money equivalent, but as presents for Christmas we both slept through so to say, and the token of goodwill from our whole community for uncovering those bandits…"

He almost shot out the last word and paused to calm down a bit. His paralyzed face couldn't fully reflect his feelings, but the fire in his eyes was more substantial that the richest facial expressions.

"Yes, bandits, that's the right word… They wanted not just to rob our community, but to deprive it from the future! You didn't allow it happen, and we all are forever indebted to you, all of you. But most of all to you, Mister Chip! You are a true hero and worthy successor of the great rodent detectives of the past! That's why I think this small souvenir will come handy in your work and serve you well! Perry, would you please…"

"With pleasure, Mister Bucksup!" the squirrel-attorney said. He took the first parcel on the right and handed it to his client who then presented it to the Rangers leader. Chip untied the ribbon and removed the wrapper to discover a square box covered with black varnish with a looking glass drawn with golden paint on its lid.

"Golly!" Gadget exclaimed looking over his shoulder. "It's the trademark of Carlmouse Zoiss, the greatest rodent optics master!"

"Oh my…" Chip muttered. "Zoiss optics… It's… It's a whole fortune! Mister Harold, I can't accept it!"

"Yes, you can, Mister Chip, and you will!" the patron pushed the box back to Chip and winked as cunningly as he could. "Or I'll get very offended! Besides, you don't even know what you are refusing to take! Please, open the box; be nice to the old mouse!"

Chip looked at his friends seeking for advice. They exchanged glances and nodded. Reassured by their silent approval, chipmunk turned the gold latch around… And almost dropped the present down at the sight of the magnifying glass lying on the velvet bedding. It had a folding handle and a wheel on its frame to adjust the distance between lenses which shone in the surrounding light with all the shades of noble violet.

"Ohmigosh!" Gadget gasped. "It's 'Private Eye 5000' with accent lights, plotting scale projected on the lenses and integrated laser range finder!"

Chip gulped. "'Private Eye 5000'… I… I just…"

Harold Bucksup smiled. "Glad you liked it, Mister Chip! I won't say stand-offish phrases like 'own and use wisely' because in your case this reminder is unneeded! Let me thank you and your team again for everything you did for me and all the rodents of this city!"

He shook Chip's paw to the thunderous applause and chipmunk stepped back to his friends, still in prostration. Harold took another parcel from Nutson and spoke to Dale gazing at his friend's gift.

"Now you, Mister Dale!"

"Me?! Really?!" the large-nosed chipmunk jumped up and leaped to the podium. "It's for me, yes?!"

"For you, Mister Dale!"

"Wow-wow-wow!" the excited Ranger tore the parcel to pieces and found a similar looking box inside. "Wow! It's Master Zoiss' signature here, too! I'll have a magnifying glass, too! Now I'll be able to burn out everything I want on our tree's trunk!"

Harold made a helpless gesture. "Well, I don't know how to put it but it's not quite the magnifying glass there… Though I think you'll like it even more!"

The chipmunk who already envisioned himself the Super-Tree-Burner was skeptic but unsealing revealed that Mister Bucksup had a very keen eye. Both of them, even, because there were glasses in the box. Very stylish and very dark glasses with fashioned rim specially designed for chipmunk head with multi-colored LED's inserted along it.

"Oh boy, oh boy oh boy…" Dale could barely hold the gift box while he shook Harold's paw. "A 'Saturday Night Fever' variant of 'Club-Munk' with colored light set! AAAA!!! Thank you! Thank you!!! I've dreamt about it for my whole life! Gadget, do you know what it means?! I have real club glasses with light music show!!!"

"As far as I know they don't have music in it," Gadget said thoughtfully. "But if merged with your headphones… Installing the plug socket on the rim to transfer the current to the LEDs making them switching with the same frequency as the music rhythm has…"

Dale almost swooned right there. "You mean they'll blink in rhythm with the music, yes?!! You can do that?!"

"Sure she can!" Harold Bucksup answered instead of her. "She's called the Master for a reason! Please welcome the beautiful and brilliant Master Gadget Hackwrench!"

He didn't have to ask because the audience met her with ovation which deafened all the previous ones.

"How do you think, Master, this applause is accidental or not?" the old mouse asked the mouse purple with embarrassment and answered immediately. "I don't think so, too! Your bravery put an end to Bubbles dirty schemes and your technical genius made this hospital a full-fledged medical center and allowed us to save years of work and the patients that didn't have a single chance in the past! Every one saved by our surgeons and reanimatologists is actually saved by you, Miss Hackwrench!"

"Born Hackwrench," the mouse corrected him. "You see, me and my old friend and colleague Dale, well, we plan to marry soon, so…"

The applause and congratulations sounded anew making the inventor drop her eyes. Her future husband smiled broadly and proudly, answering not only Gadget's words and greetings from the audience but also the sigh of disappointment distinctly heard in the common uproar ― the unanimous reaction of many mouse males present there.

"In that case accept my sincere congratulations, my dear!" Bucksup said. "I'm happy for your fiancé who was lucky enough to find the real treasure! The girl like you deserves the best only, so it was really hard to choose an appropriate present. But I think me and Mr. Zoiss managed to do it. Still, you are a judge here! Please, Master!"

Little could surprise Gadget after 'Private Eye 5000' and 'Club-Munk', but Harold Bucksup was right by one hundred percent. Even one hundred and thirty two, with one additional percent for each optical configuration variant provided by the design of engineering goggles given to her. They closely resembled her flight goggles, having identical strap and big eyepieces. But these eyepieces weren't solid but consisted of five lenses strung on side spindle which could be rotated around it letting to choose the magnification needed for the particular job.

"Golly, it's beautiful!" the inventor exclaimed. "It's much more handy than the heavy helmet and lenses are far better than mine! Mister Harold, you are a wizard!"

"No, Master, if there is a wizard in this room, it's you! Hope they'll help you built the musical goggles for your husband and many other great and useful things!"

"Sure, Mister Harold!" Gadget assured him and everybody else. "In a jiffy, trust me!"

"I surely do!" the patron said, then turned to Nutson picking up the next parcel. "No, Perry, give me another one the smaller! Mister Zipper, please, come here!"

Zipper was surprised to be called out before Monterey but complied, took his hat off and made a bow in full accordance with the rules winning another round of applause. Then he flew up to Harold and squeaked inquiringly.

"No, Mister Zipper!" Harold slowly shook his head. "I didn't forget about your old comrade who's really hard to miss! I just thought it would be handier and your present will fit the theme better! Then again, who said the smallest must be last?"

Zipper didn't object and Harold handed him a small parcel barely visible in his broad paw, but for a fly it was the same size as those handed out before. That was natural for it contained the goggles, too. They were unique not by its size only, but also by design and functioning. Their ball-like lenses weren't solid; they consisted of numerous glass threads used in optical fiber cables. They were melted together and their outer ends were shaped like convex hexagons by special laser. Their other ends were inserted into the conic prism which focused the light coming through them into one big image. There were lots of fibers, so the resulting image was blurred somewhat. But this shortcoming was fully compensated by significant increase of viewing angle and ability to notice even the faintest movement for even the slightest change of the picture on one of the threads changed the general image greatly.

"Yes-yes, I know!" the patron smiled answering the fly's loud and excited buzzing. "From what I heard about your team's adventure I concluded that your primary role is recon and observation, so I thought these goggles would fit you very well! Now when someone asks you to have an eye out for something you can seriously ask him 'how many?' Agreed, Mister Zipper?"

The fly squeaked happily and flew back to his friends.

"Okay, Mister Jack, it's your turn now!" Harold turned to the last of the core team members.

"Thank you, Mister Harold!" Just like Zipper, Monty greeted everybody by full procedure earning even louder ovation since his constitution was more movement denying than that of his insect friend. "If I gotcha ya right, ya came up with something totally different for me, yes?"

"True!"

"Good!" Monty smiled. "My eyes serve me well enough without glasses, and my ears, too…"

"What about your appetite?" Bucksup asked.

"Appetite especially― Oh!" the Aussie shot a glance at the parcel Nutson was holding. "Don't say it's CH-E-E-E-S-S-E…"

"I won't," Harold said when Monty's sight cleared. "Because it's not cheese in the common sense of this word! It's… On the other hand, I think you'd want to find it out for yourself!"

"Too right!" Monty confirmed and took the heavy parcel. He sniffed but sensed nothing despite being able too feel cheese from half a mile away. _Not cheese indeed…_ he thought sadly and untied the ribbon. There wasn't cheese under the wrapper but thick glass of which high cover with rounded angles was made. It stuck to the oval tray hermetically so Monty didn't fell the scent of cheese lying on it. But a single glance was quite enough to make his moustache and tail stick out.

"B-B-BRIE-E-E-E!" he exhaled so loud and strong that the wrapping paper flew to the opposite end of the stage.

"So it _is_ cheese there after all," Chip observed.

"CHEESE?! You said 'cheese'?!" Never before had Monty said the name of his favorite food with such anger and even slight disgust. "It's not cheese! Its… It's more than cheese!!! It's vintage Brie '86 from the Golden Yield collection label!!!"

"Must be uncommon…" Dale surmised.

"Uncommon," Harold Bucksup confirmed. "There are only five pieces of this in the world. And, if I understand it right, only four will remain soon."

"Oh dontcha doubt! I'll put it to the best possible use! I think the cheese cake 'Brie a la Monterey' will do nicely!" the Aussie said. He started rotating the tray searching for the cover lock but was interrupted by polite five-voiced cough.

"Yes, friends," he agreed. "It better stay sealed or it'll be a mess!" So he handed the box to the most responsible. "Watch it, Chippah! There only five of those in the world!"

"Very well," the patron summed up, waving his paw which grew numb after Monty's mighty handshake. "It was the heroic team of Rescue Rangers! But the list of our heroes is far from over! The importance of what the Rangers did can't be overestimated, but, as they themselves say, nothing of what we are honoring them for would have been possible without the person whose name is very well known to all of you! I ask the audience to greet our heroic colleague, Miss Mildred Munkched!"

The applause roar shook the walls. As usual, the loudest for those who eagerly retold the news of her dismissal, adding more and more picturesque details on the fly. Some repented it, some didn't, and some grew even angrier with her story's successful outcome. But everyone applauded for her deed deserved respect only.

"Thank you for your warm words, Mister Harold!" Mildred spoke when the noise subsided. "Thank you, Doctor Stone, and everybody here for your applause and for the opportunity to be here today! It― It means much to me! This whole hospital means much to me and I'm grateful to you, Mister Harold, for convincing Doctor Stone to let me work here. Thank you for everything you've done for as all and for me personally!"

Harold Bucksup III bowed politely.

"Thank you, Miss Munkched! It's owing to you I'm standing here now, the Bucksup Foundation hadn't died prematurely and who knows what troubled didn't happen to the SCH. That's why I'm ashamed to have no gift for you like those I presented the Rangers with…"

Mildred laughed. "Gosh, Mister Harold! Nothing is needed! You and your hospital gave me everything I could only dream of, I mean the sense of living, the ability to help the others and…" she hesitated and looked aside shyly. "And Chip, my husband-to-be…"

"Good heavens!" the patron shouted, He had to raise his voice to make himself heard in the storm of happy voices and ovations. "Congratulations to both of you!" he addressed Chip and Millie who blushing like two lobsters. "I― I don't know what's more to add here! After your words one really starts wondering if there is anything in this world this happy couple needs for they seem to have everything you can wish for already! But I'm not the one who seeks easy ways anymore, so I proudly accept this unique challenge and dare to hope I won't fail again! What do you think?"

Millie became confused. "Well, after everything you've done already I'm absolutely sure there's nothing impossible for you!"

"You flatter me, Miss Munkched, but there's nothing left for me but try not to disappoint you! Correct me if I'm wrong but as far as I know you are on indefinite leave now…"

"It's true! Doctor Stone arranged it for me to look after Chip."

"Well, I see it's not needed anymore. But, Miss Munkched, you see, I don't know how to put it…" Harold Bucksup made a helpless and guilty gesture. "You know, Mister Chip's recovery took just a bit too long, and there were not enough working hands in the rehabilitation section so Doctor Stone had no choice but to hire another nurse."

"Really?" Millie asked, dumbfounded. "But… But you know, Mister Harold, it's… It's even better…"

"But there's something else to it," the patron interrupted her and pointed his finger upwards. "As you very well know, because of the latest events there are three vacancies to be filled in the hospital. Unfortunately, as Doctor Stone himself explained me, he can't take you back as an ambulance nurseman because you lack the skills needed nor as an orderly because of your insufficient physical conditions…"

"Mister Harold, I know, but…" Millie tried to interject but Harold went on without listening to her.

"But he also complained he's too old already to manage the hospital on his own, and he'd like to have a young and vigorous assistant who could became his deputy and take some of his responsibilities, in particular the pharmacology and rehabilitation sections. I asked him whether he had someone in view and he instantly told me a name. Your name, Miss Munkched. What do you think of it?"

The hall became so silent you might have heard cheese growing thicker. Everybody looked at Mildred, frozen with bulging eyes and half-opened mouth. She wasn't moving for several long seconds, then brought her visibly shaking paw to her mouth and uttered something with her lips only, then looked at Harold Bucksup III.

"Mister Harold… Doctor Stone… It's… But… It's incredible…"

"If you aren't sure you'll make it," the head of the SCH quickly said, "I want to assure you that with your substantial knowledge of pharmacology and rich experience of working in rehabilitation section you won't have any problems working on this position! Then again, I'll be happy to provide you any help needed and answer any questions!"

"Maybe… Possibly… But doctor, you see, Chip offered me to become a member of Rescue Rangers and I must… I have to…"

She turned to Chip who instantly handed Dale the presents he was holding, quickly approached her and took her paws in his.

"Agree," he said shortly but firmly.

"Are― Are you sure?" Millie asked. "What about Ranger duty?"

"We'll do fine!" the chipmunk said confidently. "Trust me, you'll be of much more use here than creeping through dirty attics and basements with us! And if someone we rescue needs medical attention, we'll bring him here for treatment!"

"But what if it happens while you are far away? You said you often had to travel all over the world!"

"Don't worry, my dear!" Harold Bucksup made himself heard. "I'm sure Doctor Stone will understand your need for periodic business trips! Am I right, Harvey?"

"Absolutely right, Harold!"

"So, Miss Munkched, as you can see, you have nothing to worry about! Your word!"

"You should agree, Millie," Chip repeated. "It's a chance of a lifetime! Please, agree!"

"Listen to your husband, Miss Munkched!" Stone shouted. "He talks sense!"

"Well then," Mildred said and looked at three men persuading her and other Rangers nodding actively, "looks like I have no other choice but to accept this offer!"

"Good girl!" Chip said and kissed her hard while the audience cheered. "I'm proud of you, sweetheart!"

"And I'm proud of you!" the newly-fledged deputy head of the SCH whispered into his ear and kissed him back. After that she went to the podium, shook hands with Bucksup, Stone and Nutson in her new status, then addressed her numerous subordinates.

"Dear friends and colleagues! I can't describe what I'm feeling right now! I never dared to dream of it, and no words can truly reflect my emotions, so I'll try to speak shortly and quickly so as not to forget anything or anyone.

"I want to heartily thank the Founding Father of our hospital, Mister Harold Bucksup the Third, and its head, Doctor Harvey Stone, for trusting me with a job here and now with this responsible position. I want to thank all rehabilitation section personnel with whom I worked side by side for more than half a year, and especially my good friend Sarah Cotton who often asked me to substitute her thus giving me opportunity to learn this profession better and also to develop my own coffee recipe without which I'd never have held for so long!"

She waited for laughter and applause to quiet down and went on.

"Sure, I'd like to thank the Rescue Rangers without whom this would have never happened and especially their unchallenged leader Chip who turned out not just a very interesting patient but also master detective and fearless hero and saved both my life and honor, though stealing my heart and my second name in the process…"

She made another pause for the same reason as before, then looked around the hall and continued, but this time in quiet and cheerless tone.

"And I also would like to apologize for touching this topic on a bright day like this. But I'm sure that today's celebration dedicated to glorifying the heroes who saved Harold Bucksup the Third and the Small Central Hospital can't be considered completed without mentioning the name which is worth carving in marble and will live forever despite his owner no longer being among us. I'm sure you know who I'm talking about. I'm talking about Washington Chibbit, widely known as Washy and to some of you ― as Wash-It."

At these words many spectators, mostly orderlies and nursemen, looked down and some even covered their faces with paws to hide from their neighbors' condemning glances.

"I know that many of you thought of him as harmless madmunk or even nature's mistake. Looked at him with scorn and disgust, humbled and taunted him, didn't even consider him a rodent. So I want _you_ to know that you are not a patch on him! Weren't, that is… Excuse me…"

Millie took out a handkerchief and blotted her eyes and looked up again to find out that many followed her example.

"If it hadn't been for him, his bravery, selflessness and love, I, Chip and Mister Harold would have been long dead. He saved us all. He saved me and gave me his keys which helped me find Chip who was captured by the criminals, and stayed at the bus stop near my house to keep one of them, former orderly Turkle, from catching me. He paid for it. As you know, the next morning he was found in the gutter at the same bus stop, viciously beaten and unconscious. He was brought here in critical condition and put into intensive care ward. For eleven days the medics led by Doctor Sterham fought for his life. But his injuries turned out incompatible with life, and on December 30th, at 12:43 PM, he died. He never regained consciousness…"

"Gosh, gosh, gosh…"Chip whispered. "I didn't even know his real name… I sent him to death without knowing his real name…"

"It's not your fault, Chip!" Gadget said. She stood close enough to him to hear it and squeezed his paw. "You couldn't have known!"

"Gadget, you don't understand! I made a mistake! I had to realize he's got the key to the room I was in! I should have simply asked him to unlock it and free me! By that time the effect of Mouise's injection had worn off completely, so I would have no problems dealing with Mitchell! I'd force him to tell everything, including the names of all the gang members, raised the alarm…"

"Maybe, Chip," Gadget said quietly. "But I doubt you would've stopped Turkle sent to kill Millie this way…"

"I don't know… I… I had to… My stupidity killed him…"

Now Dale joined their conversation. "No, Chip!" he said unusually firmly. "It's not true! Turkle killed him, not you! You aren't guilty! Millie told us that he himself chose to stay there and stop Turkle!"

"Too right, lad!" Monty made himself heard, and Zipper also squeaked the words of consolation. "_You didn't kill him, Chip!_"

"You…" chipmunk sobbed and looked at his friends. "You really think so?"

"We know it, Chip!" Gadget answered for everybody. "You did well! You are hero, not a murderer, and will always be a hero!"

"It's hard, lad," Monterey added, "but it's not your fault! So don't blame yourself for what you didn't do!"

It was Dale's turn now. "Yes! Think about Millie! Only Washy could have saved her! You… You were right to have sent him to her! _You_ saved her!"

Chip nodded and covered his face with his hat to hide his tears. He replayed their last conversation in the library in his mind, scolding himself for yelling at Washy, for cursing him mentally and thinking he was one of the criminals… It was so wrong… It was so hard…

"…Taking into account Washy's great services to our hospital and our entire community, I, Mildred Munkched, the deputy head of the Small Central Hospital, want to make a suggestion about naming our hospital Washington Chibbit Memorial. And now I want to ask you not as my subordinates but as my colleagues and friends, to honor his memory with a moment of silence…"

The tapping of tip-up seats was heard as all present in the room got up and lowered their heads. Chip also looked down and stood, fiddling with his faithful hat and remembering every moment from the very first 'fighting' night to his last words, by an irony of fate also spoken from behind the wall. Here he and Millie defend Washy from Turkle and because of janitor he realizes he has feelings towards her for the first time, that he is jealous about her. And here Washy overthrows the bucket just a second before their first kiss. Who knows how it would have turned out had he spilled the water just two seconds later…

_I had to realize I love her and she loves me back then!_ Chip scolded himself mentally. _Already back then! And I considered her a threat to my piece and quiet instead! That's why I was blinded by Mouise's trickery and believed that it was Millie who stole my letters… And everything because of two little seconds…_

"Thank you… Thank you all…" Mildred said and turned to the first people of the SCH. "I'm sorry to end the ceremony like that but― but I had to…"

She covered her face with handkerchief and stepped aside. Chip quickly approached her and hugged tightly to comfort her, and Harold Bucksup returned to the microphone.

"You mustn't feel sorry, Miss Munkched. You did the right thing. This deed required real bravery and for me it's another proof that I was right interceding for you. For my part I fully support your suggestion and ask my attorney, Mister Nutson, to arrange everything."

"Consider it done, sir," Nutson nodded.

"Thanks, Perry. But you are right, Miss Munkched, that it doesn't befit to finish the celebration on a minor note. So I'd like to cheer things up a bit. Please, don't consider it an act of disrespect to your friend's memory."

"Oh please, Mister Harold!" Millie objected. "I'm sure Washy wouldn't wish his memory to spoil our celebration for he paid his life to make it happen. Please, go on!"

"Thank you. Well, friends! I'm sure every one of us met Miss Munkched's suggestion with understanding and approval. As you can see, today is not only day of honors but also a day of memories. A day to thank those around us and apologize to those no longer here.

"Words of apology are always hard to say, just like it's hard to accept your defeat. But apologies are necessary if only to avoid the pain of knowing that you forever missed the opportunity to do it. Unfortunately, too often we remember about it when it's already too late. Too bad we often start appreciate those around us only after losing them…"

"Indeed…" Gadget muttered.

"Did you say something?" Dale asked in whisper.

"No, Dale, it's okay. It's okay now…"

The patron went on. "As much as I regret to say it, I'm guilty of it, too. But I'm lucky to still have the chance if not to be forgiven than at least to ask for it. I want to do it now, in this hall and in your presence. Dear friends! Allow me to introduce my former wife, Miss Barbara Swissand!"

Everybody looked at tall grey-haired female mouse that rose from her seat in the front row. She wore white jacket and could be easily mistook for one of the nurses. But the noble features and majestic posture of her slender figure greatly preserved despite her age told everybody unambiguously that she was coming from very old, very noble and very rich family.

"Good day, Barbara," Harold greeted her in a low voice.

"Good day, Harold," Barbara answered. "Will we keep standing like this or will you be so kind…"

"Oh, sure!" Harold bustled, instantly turning from sedate old gentlemouse into a young greenhorn. "Can you come up here? I would have come down to you myself but there's microphone here and everything else…"

"I know, Harold," Barbara smiled shortly and went to the stairs. Nutson darted towards her and helped her up.

"Well, hello, Harold," the former Mrs. Bucksup said when the attorney led her to the podium. "We haven't met in quite a while."

"Yes, quite a while indeed," the patron nodded. "Too long, to tell the truth. I wrote you, but Mouise…"

"I know. Mister Nutson and Miss Munkched told me everything."

"Miss Munkched?" the patron was very surprised. "Perry, I thought…"

"Sorry to hush it up, sir," the squirrel said bowing slightly, "but my conversation with you about this was Miss Munkched's idea. She told me about your letters being intercepted and that now it's a perfect opportunity for you to meet again. She asked me not to tell about it, though, so I didn't…"

"So it's you I must thank for this?" Bucksup turned to purple-red Mildred.

"Looks that way. You know, many years ago Mister Nutson discussed your divorce with my grandfather…"

"WHAT?" the rich mouse looked back at his attorney. "Perry, is it true?!"

"True, sir. I know I broke the promise given to you but I hope you'll understand me for Miss Munkched's grandfather was Alvin Acornwood himself."

"Alwin Acornwood…" Harold repeated slowly. "I heard about him. So he's your grandfather, Miss Munkched?"

"Yes, maternal."

"I see… Well, you live on Harris street, I should have guessed it… On the other hand, I didn't guess a darn about my second wife… Enough of that. Barbara!"

"I'm here, Harold."

"Forgive me, Barbara. Forgive me for not listening to you when you reasoned me out of joining the Cult. You always wished me only good and gave only the best and kindest of advice. But I didn't listen though I must have, just like I must have taken your words about divorce seriously for you never gave up your word and never abandoned your principles. Forgive me for doubting your sincerity and forgive me for being too stubborn to admit my mistake earlier. I'm very sorry that my pride and arrogance kept me from being the first to stretch my hand to you, from traveling to your city and even from writing to you. Before my wedding with Mouise, I mean. I started writing later but Mouise interrupted them all, and I was stupid enough to think that you ignored them or burnt without reading and I stopped it. Forgive me for giving up that easily without saying that I still love you like in those distant days of our youth. Forgive me, please."

Barbara Swissand stepped up to her former husband and gently touched his shaking hand. "I forgive you, Harold. And ask you to forgive me, too. I was too stubborn to give up the divorce idea and too haughty to seek the conciliation earlier, for not coming here and not writing letters. The Swissands never give up first but… but I must have done it. Please, forgive me… Forgive me for not having done it."

Harold nodded. "I forgive you, Barbara. But that's not all."

He hastily browsed through his pockets and took out a little purple box. He opened it, and the diamond ring inside it illumed the stage with all the colors of the rainbow.

"He came prepared much better than me…" Dale mumbled, upset.

"No, honey," Gadget whispered in his ear and patted her paw against the jacket making their family relic, the paper with the test results, rustle. "I assure you, your present is googol times more precious!"

Harold Bucksup loudly cleared his throat. "Dear Barbara Swissand, o the light of my eyes! I, Harold Bucksup the Third, call everybody present here to witness me saying with all the responsibility possible that you are the prettiest, cleverest and kindest woman in the world!" He shot a quick glance at Chip and Dale, then continued. "And although some rodents in this hall may have their own opinion on the matter, for me you'll always be the best, the one and the only. I love you and want to ask you one question…"

Harold slowly sat down on one knee and handed the ring to Barbara.

"Will you marry me, Barbara?"

Swissand frowned.

"You old scoundrel! So that's what it was for? And after so many years, after everything we came through you really expect me to say…" Her voice trembled and she quickly covered her mouth, but still couldn't hold her happy smile. "…expect me to say 'no'?! That won't happen! Sure I'll marry you!"

"Barbie…" Harold was too overwhelmed with feelings to say anything else.

"Hal…" she mumbled helping him to stand up and kissing him hard as everybody around them cheered and applauded.

"Everybody gets married! That must mean something!" Doctor Stone shouted joyfully, and it was hard to come up with more appropriate closure for this ceremony.

*** 3 ***

After saying goodbye to everybody the tired but happy Rescue Rangers left the stage and went to the rooftop lift accompanied by Doctor Stone, Perry Nutson and as yet divorced Bucksups. Chip carried the precious Brie saving Monterey from temptation and allowing him to gesture actively. He did just that, colorfully describing the wedding ceremony of Madagascar lemurs which he had a chance to observe and only barely avoided taking an active part. This captivating and thrilling story made the trip down the corridors shorter and the farewells warmer and more unconstrained. Even the January wind which met them on the roof didn't feel that cold.

"I haven't seen her for a long time…" Chip observed, looking at the Ranger Wing. "And didn't even hope to see again…"

Dale patted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, Chip! You'll even fly her now! You didn't forget this thing can fly, did you? See those orange pieces? They are called wings…"

He coughed and massaged his belly hit by Chip's elbow.

"Well, dear friends," Stone said. "Good luck to you! Thanks again for everything! We'll be happy to see you again! As guests, I mean!" he added quickly.

Gadget laughed. "Sure, Doctor Stone! And you visit us some time, too! And you, Mister and Mrs. Bucksup! Consider it an official wedding invitation! We haven't set a date yet, but…"

"Don't worry, dear!" Barbara smiled. "It's a very important day and you should prepare thoroughly and with no rush to it. Invite us when everything is set. Besides, me and Hal we'll be busy doing the same at the nearest future. Right, dear?"

"Yes, Barbie! Though to tell the truth I'd very much like to skip all the formalities…"

"Ya know, Harold," Monty joined in, "if time presses, I know one very good minister, Father Scott! He's fast as lightning! You'll be a husband and a wife before ya have time to look around!"

Everybody laughed and the patron wagged his finger at the mighty Ranger.

"You have a ready tongue, Mister Jack! We'll consider your advice, that's for sure! Well, we won't hold you for long! Thanks for everything and good luck with everything!"

The handshakes were exchanged, then Nutson approached Chip and coughed delicately.

"I'm sorry, Mister Chip, for being harsh and rude to you. It was inexcusable neglect on my part."

"No, Mister Nutson," the Ranger answered in the same tone. "I should apologize for all those mistakes I made. I must have guessed it much earlier."

"For pity's sake, Mister Chip! Even I didn't guess it despite living under the same roof with Mouise Stretcher for many years! You have nothing to blame yourself for!"

"There is one thing," Chip objected, thinking about Washy. "Unfortunately, there is…"

The squirrel nodded with understanding and went away. Chip squared his shoulders and breathed deeply and turned to his friends.

"Okay, gang, are we flying?"

"We are, Chip!" they shouted and ran to the Wing.

"Why aren't you going, Millie?" Chip asked his fiancée who stayed back.

"Just a minute, Chip," she answered and went towards Doctor Stone. Chip followed her with his eyes anxiously but then his attention was drawn to Dale who sneaked up from behind.

"BOO!"

Chip shook but didn't let the parcels go. "Stop it!" He waved his friend off still looking at Mildred and Stone. But Dale wasn't that easy to rid of, especially now when he was wearing Club-Munk glasses and felt himself invincible.

"By the way, Chipper, Tammy sends you her best regards!"

Chip almost choked over suddenness and impudence.

"You call me 'Chipper' one more time, and I…"

"But I didn't!" Dale waved his hands. "It was quote! What can I do if Tammy asked me 'Dale, don't forget to give Chipper my regards!' So I couldn't call you any other way except 'Chipper' because she asked me to give her regards to Chipper! If she hadn't asked me to give her regards to Chipper, then I wouldn't have called you 'Chipper' because I know how badly you feel when they call you 'Chipper'…"

"Either you stop it," Chip said through set teeth, "or you'll fly to the HQ tied to the Wing's propeller! So how's Tammy? I didn't see her coming here…"

"Yes, she's in San-Angeles, acting. But their entire family came here on holidays and she met the New Year in your ward with us. She was constantly turning to see whether you came back to your senses, you know. We all did the same, actually, and our necks ached so much we had to ask those physicists to look at it…"

"Physicians."

"Yes, them! But that's not the coolest! Just imagine, she was given a role in 'Of Munks and Malice' movie! Their whole project almost got closed because of the situation with Mouise Stretcher! But they quickly changed her with another actress who already played the role of nurse and they couldn't find another chipmunk actress to play the now vacant role. Then they noticed Tammy and the screen-tests went so great they even changed the scenario to make the nurse not chipmunk but a squirrel! Cool, huh? She promised to come to see her dear Chipper as soon as shooting ends… Ouch!" Dale scratched his aching ear. "Why are you fighting?!"

"For some unknown reason… Well, I'm glad about Tammy! She deserved it!" Chip said and looked back at Stone and Millie. "They are talking for too long already…"

Dale smiled significantly. "You are jealous!"

Chip shrugged. "If only a little, maybe…"

"A little?"

"A little! After all, I got so used to feel jealous about Gadget that I seem to miss something. Some adrenaline rush, maybe…"

"You regret it?! That's the news…"

"No, Dale, I regret nothing! This must be the effects of your blood, for I have never been an extreme sports fan…"

Dale frowned. "Oh yeah, my fault again!"

"Sure!" Chip smiled and changed into a significant whisper. "But you know what, there's something fun in it. After all, Gadget is astonishingly beautiful, and now, after the transfusion, me and her have much more, so I think if I should develop a crush on her, for old sake's sake as they say…"

"Know what, Chip?" Dale smiled sugary. "I've been waiting long for a chance to tell you… ZIP IT!"

He abruptly jerked Chip's zipper upwards to the very end of it so that only his hat and ears remained visible.

"HEY! What was that for?!" Millie demanded coming up to them.

"I'd have told you…" Dale began but then his friend managed to free his head from under the jacket using his free hand and his teeth. "I'll tell you later!" Chip promised. "What did you and Stone talk about?"

"I asked when I must start working and he said that the moving from one house to another is very troublesome and responsible deed so he allowed me to not come here until the next Monday!"

"Really?! Thanks, Harvey!" Chip shouted. Stone waved back and winked at them.

"Let's go or what?" Chip asked embracing his beloved with his free hand.

"Yes, Chip, let's go!" Mildred agreed. She put her head on his shoulder, and they joined the others waiting at the plane's boarding ramp. Yes, a real boarding ramp fastened under the right wing. It was made of the human comb and its teeth were filed to form a very neat ladder.

"Wow!" Chip exclaimed. "That's something new!"

As always, Gadget was eager to explain. "This is telescopic multi-stepped ramp with advanced aerodynamic profile! I've been thinking about something like that for quite some time but never actually found the time to do it and there were no real need, too. But now after your injury…"

"If you are talking about my leg, don't worry, it's fully healed! Monty, hold my 'Private Eye' and your cheese…"

"CH-E-E-E-E-SE!!!"

"Oh-oh, no-no!" Chip quickly hid the parcels behind his back and when Monty's cheese attack subsided handed them over to Dale. "Better you hold the Eye and… well, you know."

"And what should I do with it?"

"Wait, Dale!" Chip said shortly over his shoulder. He approached the plane but stopped, hesitating and wondering why the wing was located so high. He was about to ask Gadget why she replaced the landing legs with higher ones but then compared their height with diameter of the hinges and realized the Wing was the same. Some other thing changed though…

"So what, Chip?" Dale asked impatiently moving the boxes from one hand to the other. "They are heavy, by the way!"

"Looks like our Chippah's got a problem," Monterey observed knowingly. "I told we'll need the ramp at first!"

"No-no, Monty, I'm fine!" Chip objected. "I just― just a minute, okay?"

He looked up at the edge of the wing, spat on his paws and waved them sideways. Then he spat on his paws again and moved his shoulders up and down. Then spat again…

"Chip, maybe you shouldn't?" Millie asked, openly worried. "If you aren't sure…"

"Looks like we'll spend the whole day here!" Dale grumbled. "Monty, could you help him up a bit?"

"Sure!" The Aussie stepped forward but Gadget interjected.

"No, Monty! He must do it himself! Come on, Chip! You can do it!"

_She seems to know what I need better than me…_ Chip thought. He braced himself and jumped up, purposely putting all his weight on his right foot. The broken limb reacted with slight pricking but worked normally. The other parts of his body automatically made all the movements perfected by years of practice and chipmunk reached the top of the wing in a blink of an eye.

"What do you think?" he proudly asked his audience.

"Bravo, Chip!" Dale said handing him the boxes. "Just little more training and you will deserve showing in circus!"

"I'll show you in circus myself if you don't stop it!" Chip joyfully threatened his friend. He put the presents into the luggage compartment, jumped down nimbly and bowed to applauding friends. "Here we go!"

"Yes, the modern medicine fixes everybody these days!" Monty laughed.

"Or knocks him off his feet!" Chip added looking at blushing Mildred.

"Then everything is fine indeed!" Gadget smiled. "Too bad the ramp turned out unneeded but I have built so many useless things in my life that another ramp or two don't make any difference…"

"No, Gadget!" Chip objected stepping up to Millie. "Quite the contrary! It's perfect for something I plan to do now!"

"And what will it… OH!" Mildred screamed in surprise when Chip took her in his arms. "Aren't you going to…"

Chipmunk bowed politely "Welcome aboard, ma'am!" He turned to the plane but didn't make a step when Gadget's scream came from behind. He turned around ready to fight but she was screaming not because of enemies attack or aliens invasion but because Dale followed his friend's example. Chip looked at him grimly for stealing his ideas and Dale responded by showing his tongue. Millie and Gadget exchanged knowing glances and ended the conflict by synchronously kissing their beloved ones.

"Besides," Chip observed heading to the ramp, "taking into account the increase of our team's size, one ramp won't be enough, don't you think?"

"I do!" the mouse responded. "And for quite some time since that little engine accident! Unfortunately I spent all the details for Ranger Foxbat to build the ARK but the more I think of it the more convinced I become that Wing's design has many hidden reserves to be used! I think she'll handle the hull lengthening to fit one or even two rows of seats! Sure I'll need to recalculate the balance, increase the engine power and probably add the fin and stabilizers but general performance characteristics will stay the same while controllability and stability will increase dramatically…"

"Sorry to interrupt you," Millie said looking at the ramp before them, "but I've got a question. Will this comb hold the two of us?"

"I should!" Gadget answered.

Chip froze with his leg in the air. Dale gulped nervously and asked.

"Gadget, may I ask you a favor?"

"Sure, Dale! Anything you want!"

"Don't say the word 'should' on our wedding day, please!"

"Sure, no prob―"

"And don't say 'no problems', too!" Dale quickly added.

Gadget shrugged. "Okay, if you say so!"

"Good!" Dale laughed in relief and shouted at Chip. "What are you waiting for? Christmas? It was already!"

"Mind yourself, Dale!" Chip snarled but went up the ramp and occupied his usual seat. Dale and Gadget sat behind them and Monty and Zipper settled near them. The team sat in that manner for some time, as if in stupor, then the girls sitting on boys' knees giggled, then the boys laughed quietly and finally all of them roared in laughter so loud it seemed the Wing would fall apart.

"Yeah…" Monterey said rubbing of his teary eyes. "It's classic… Well, looks like it's time for me to remember my piloting youth!"

"You'll oblige us greatly, Uncle Monty!" Dale agreed and the Aussie climbed into the pilot's seat. He cracked his knuckles, lowered his goggles down and started the engine. Then he looked at two loving and soon-to-be-family couples.

"So, guys? Like in good ol' times? Rescue Rangers…"

"Rescue Rangers…" Zipper, Gadget and Dale repeated after him and looked at Chip. He for his part looked in Mildred's eyes, grey as the sky above their heads.

"Home?" he asked.

"Home, Chip," Millie confirmed, and all the Ranger Wing's passengers raised their hands and announced:

"RESCUE RANGERS, HOME!"

**THE END**


End file.
